Snippet #2763238

It was about five miles from Muddstix to Schittle: a distance long enough to consider Muddstix its own village, but close enough that no one bothered putting Muddstix on any map next to the larger and more popular Schittle. The two weren't exactly rivals, but Otis had always thought it to be somewhat of a sore spot for the residents of Muddstix. The two villages had been organized at roughly the same time: Schittle around a deep and rich well, and Muddstix around a puddle that never dried up.

Then again, Otis thought, maybe that was the answer. On one hand, you had people who built around a well, and on the other hand, people who built around a puddle. Even on the Rock, you had the people who were willing to try harder to get their resources, and the people who were lazy enough to ask the desert itself to squirt water in their faces.

None of this was important. But Otis needed something to distract himself from the run. Five miles over sand was no picnic, even for Otis, so by the time he arrived at Schittle, he was a bit short of breath. Not allowing himself to take a break, however, Otis reached the small hut that served as the Guardian headquarters.

"Girthfield, sir! That ship..." Otis called out as he entered, before realizing that Girthfield was not in the hut. Looking around, Otis could see some papers on the desk, several which had fallen to the floor. His superior must have heard the ship crash, and gone to investigate.

Sighing, Otis turned and headed out the door. More running, Otis thought. Just what he needed. The ship hadn't crashed very far from town, but the fire had stopped burning a while ago. Something had put it out, perhaps an emergency response system, though even as Otis considered this, he doubted the technology would be available.

Jogging through town, Otis checked his equipment half-mindedly, making sure his pistol was loaded, and his sword was still within easy reach. It wouldn't be long before scavengers overtook the ship, if they weren't there already. Otis was sure Girthfield would be careful, but...

Gunshots rang through the air from the ship, and Otis' eyes tightened, and his jog turned into another headlong sprint as Otis got his second wind. Time to be a Guardian.