(no subject)

Apr 03, 2006 16:19

After the conversation with Tom Underlay a few days ago, Spoon stood in the courtyard for a long time, thinking about this and that. It only makes sense to let those who're gifted in such a way do those things, Tom had said. And there were more of them every day, it looked like- or at least every week-

Something was at work here. Something that was pulling people in at good, strong, adaptable ages. Something that wanted to see how well they'd survive, how long they'd last. Something that could find the people with powers and pull them in at rates where they outnumbered the ordinary humans. He knew where he fell in that division, all right. Either he was part of the control group, or he was there as some sort of padding, and would be first to go when the pincers really closed in.

Screw that.

It's all a very complicated way of saying that Spoon's set up his Magog target in the courtyard again. There were five hours of hand-to-hand practise this morning, and then an hour of archery, and then his patrol. This was new.

It's probably best not to walk too closely to the uniformed Englishman when he's practising axe-throwing. His aim's not bad but the axe tends to bounce off the target more often than not.

tris williams, hamel, spoon

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