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You take a vantage where you can see all of the Axx Chukks and make a short, soft <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">skuu-orrnk</span></span> on the toota. Sounds like a dying duck got stepped on.
A few of the Wulvz swivel your way uncertainly, but their handlers rein them in; too close to march-out time to break formation for every little thing.
Someone comes along, smoking a dogend; dat gudd Stumpy leaf mixed with poorman's blend. He comes to the tree you're on and starts pessen.
He's got gudd ears, to mark you at this distance.
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">So yer va bloke. Wotcher, Killer.</span></span>" he says, low voice, not looking up.
"<span class="mu-r">... Wotcher.</span>"
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Order of move is Footy Scoutz, Axx Chukkaz front guard, first main mobb, waggonz wiv Wulvers aside, second main mobb, Gobbo scavvers rear guard. Yer can tell yer posishun and where we're hedded by va march ordaz.</span></span>"
"<span class="mu-r">Fort all da foot scoutz is dedd.</span>"
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">They iz. These new un's ain't scoutz, theys fodder Oiks; no chopz, no killz, do nuffin, lern nuffin, juzt stand under are old flagg waiting for dibbz. They won't grow to reach Orc, dat lot.</span></span>"
"<span class="mu-r">Normal innit. Being at the front means first ter get choppt.</span>"
You wonder how long he's going to keep pessing. No signs of stopping.
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Yerr, usually. Under Jinx no one gets one scratch moonturns at a time, denn everun dies at once. Real normal, vat. And everwun dying less oftener ever since we'z started callern him "Jinx Finx". Dats roit normal too. Sleep lightly, liddle fren. Darnt get yer froat cutt.</span></span>"
The pessen cuts orf like a faucet. You take a peek: he's been dribbling a stream out of his waterpouch, the sneak.
He flicks the dogend. It lands far, smoldering.
>QM break 14hrs
