Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 25
~

I think I caught sight of Ezra about the time a mountain shifted and threw me into the fresh-worked earth. Think I may have blacked out for a moment, as a sharp pain started vibratin’ in a circular fashion around my skull. And a second later on ogre’s foot plowed into my ribs. Ouch.

Extending my arms to manage a sense of up and down, maybe a few kicks flicked a few more places up and down my body. Rude. Really rude.

I finally found purchase of ground with both hands, only to get pushed over again, shoulder plowin’ into rock-strewn clay. That happened maybe a few times.

How many idjits had come together to share their displeasure for our new facility? I never imagined a half dozen troll constables could lose control like this.

I needed to stop messin’ around and get off the ground. Needed to find Kriz, and Ezra. What in the stink was she doin’ here?

Another force, not a mountain, maybe an ogre’s heel, connected with the back of my head plowin’ my face back into the dirt. I distinctly noted the aroma of rich soil, maybe mixin’ with the blood gushin’ from my snout, as sensations and sound softened, softened some more, until I settled quiet-like in a comfy cocoon.

~ Ezra ~

Constables were grabbin’ fools two at a time, throwin’ them around to get to the next pair. Clearly avoidin’ dismemberment, or bustin’ skulls and spines as they went. Think they must have hoped bein’ tossed like a dog’s toy would encourage the fools to behave like proper ogres.

Wasn’t really workin’. And what’s a proper ogre? Don’t think that’s ever been defined.

I strived to get to where I last saw Ike, but he’d disappeared in the mob. Where in the heck could he have gone? Never saw Kriz. Was he even here? He has some sense. Prolly at home writin’ notes in some poor developer’s code. Not sure what that really means, but Ike makes that joke often. Maybe joke isn’t the right word.

Found Daze in front of me as he raised up, a fool ogre under each arm. Followed him into the fray the best I could, until I tripped on something layin’ on the ground. No big stone or tree root from all the plowin’. I discerned the red OW polo first, then the mud-smudged, blond-khaki cargo shorts. I grabbed the ogre and rolled his face out of the dirt. Yep. My fool cousin.

Blood covered a lot of his face but the dead-idjit-look was all cousin. I shook him, as hips and shoulders continued to bombard me left and right. I shifted to attempt to keep Ike from gettin’ the rest of his face kicked in.

I growled loudly, maybe roared, as I pulled him against me, the growl-roar deepenin’ and growin’ louder, until the mob around me maybe took notice. Good thing, ’cause I was about to begin plowin’ my fist into faces with no intention of just hintin’ a thing.

I was at a good bellow as I rose up with Ike danglin’ in my arms, and fools wised up enough to give me space. A second later Daze was beside me, addin’ his battle growl to mine.

Slowly we backed ogres away as we headed for the edge of the barely-graded road, Daze punchin’ the chest of idjits who got too close to me.

Clearin’ the crowd, a constable ran up and took Ike out of my arms and ran toward an ambulance. Hoped what he needed was a medic, and not a pyre builder. Not that I really worried. Hard to truly hurt an ogre.

Maybe it’s karma, the gods gave the bull a piece of their mind for the destruction he’d wrecked upon this ground.

~