Liam Perrin

He had a window in his room when he was small. He could see across a valley stitched with streets and buttoned with houses. He liked to listen to lawn mowers, smell the freshly cut grass, and stare at a distant hill with trees like broccoli.

He was too young to know some homes are happy and some aren’t. He knew something ached when he looked at that hill. He was moved from that house, but the ache endured.

He returned years later and was taken up the hill. It was part of a hospital campus. Through the window in his room, across the valley, he thought he could see another window.

They buried him under a broccoli tree. The minister said kind words. No one had any trouble hearing him over the distant lawn mowers. They thought they understood the stone. Maybe they did.

“I made it,” it said.

The troop – minus one – waited at the rendez-vous point. The ogre was always late.

The goblin poked at a hole in the dirt with a stick.

The orc shifted his pack and stepped once more through his mental checklist. Meat. Check. Floss. Check. Tent. Check.

There was a sound of crashing trees, and Mumbles the Ogre burst into the clearing. His momentum carried him too far forward. As he reeled back there was an enormous clatter very much like an entire household of goods being slid around and banged against stiff wooden walls. There was in fact a small house strapped to Mumbles’ back.

The orc stared.

The goblin squinted at Mumbles, read his t-shirt, and frowned.

“Be Prepared,” it said.

Mumbles grinned. “Ready!”