“Sometimes it feels like you’re holding back the dark while the fire closes in.”

  Reminiscences from Davy

  More questions, too many. One question cut through the noise. “How’d you find their bodies so fast? Some weren’t even near the traps.”

  Whitey held up a map box, the same metal case Davy had seen before. He lifted the lid, and a shifting contour map built itself before them, red and grey markers scattered across it, some moving in real time. Realisation dawned, Davy felt an idea forming, a good one. If it worked.

  “Let me guess.” He pointed at the map, “these markers are shields on the dead reds, and these two grey ones are us? Why only two?”

  Whitey nodded, “The map can’t see you, no shield.”

  “Can’t see me.” He made sure to remember that and come back to it later. “Then, we should collect their shields too, and make sure that they’re not turned on. If that’s a thing.”

  He didn’t want to lose his original train of thought. “So, if you can see them. How’d you miss that party of reds?”

  “We weren’t looking,” said the young grey reluctantly, then he added quickly, “or they had their shields off.”

  Davy exhaled sharply. “You’re fightin’ a war; and you weren’t watchin’?

  Whitey cut in, “We’re greys. It’s not our way.”

  “You keep sayi’ that, but it darn well needs to be. That’s why we train, else your whole mob ‘ll be wiped out.”

  The greys mumbled their agreement.

  “And, we will get her back,” he said forcefully. “That, I promise you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  The two of them brightened upon hearing this, especially Becson.

  On the way back to the cave, Davy checked that half the mob were training in the valley near the dreys. Upon seeing him they picked up the pace, trying to impress. He smiled, “Same the world over.”

  He then spent some time setting up a dummy, dressed it in some of the red’s clothes and got the greys to practice ‘killing’ it with their spears. It built their confidence; and if the reds were watching, they’d get over-confident, underestimate the greys.

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  Davy then crossed to the weavers. They saw him coming and scampered inside. “Damn,” he thought, “not good, them runnin’ from me.”

  But as he entered their drey the elder weaver was standing by the other two. They stood in a line, like on the parade ground, all smiling and in front of them were six basket bases, each with a handle woven into it. He looked at how they’d fixed the handles. They’d been strongly woven into the bases. He pulled on them; they didn’t come loose. The handles were too small for his arms but perfect for the greys.

  On the side of the base without the handles they’d even woven in the mob’s sigil - two concentric circles with a triangle wrapping over and under.

  “That’ll be just fine,” said Davy making Diri and bowing to the elder. Then to each of the young weavers who giggled and made Diri back. The elder then began chastising them, before shoeing them away with a smile.

  Becson and Whitey were intrigued by the weavings. They tried to work out what they were for as they walked back to the cave. Davy let them guess and smiled at how far off the mark they were. Their ideas ranged from carrying injured greys to collecting the spoils from future fights. They couldn’t see beyond the re-purposed bases being used for carrying things.

  Once back at the cave, Davy gathered the greys together and talked to them about the tactics they were going to practice. It revolved around what he called “buddying up” into pods of three. Once they’d sorted themselves out, he called out one of the pods and got them to take him on one at a time. He defeated then each easily, in short time. Next, he got a pod to come at him, all three at the same time. He got two of the three but not before the third managed to sneak behind him and score a ‘kill’.

  The greys all started cheering. He feigned anger, limping about as if hurt and shouted as he attacked another pod, “So, you cheer because I have been killed do you.” Their training kicked in with two of the pod managing to parry his initial attack before taking opposite positions with him in the middle. “Good, they’re still learning, adapting.” He fought hard, just enough to win but not to shake their newfound confidence.

  Davy repeated this with each group. As the training wore on, they were getting more and more strikes on him, until he called a stop. Davy lifted the woven base, turning it in his hands. “Where I come from,” he said, sliding his arm through the handles, “this is called a shield.” Davy then held it in front of his body. “Use the shield to catch their weapon or just for protection. Either way, it gives you an edge.”

  Then, stepping into the circle once more, he raised the shield. “Alright. Let’s see how this goes now.” The next trio rushed him; he took down all three. He disarmed one of them with the shield, knocked another away sending him sprawling and then leaving it one on one. Game over.

  “We’ll work one of you with a shield against an unshielded pod.”

  And so it went on, Davy slowly making it harder. Next, they did a shielded pod against an unshielded pod. Every time the shielded pod won. He could also see that those who had been one against a pod, were better in the group having seen where weaknesses could be found. They shared their learning, no egos here, and improved.

  “That’s it for now. Outside, in sight of red scouts only do one on one, no pods and no shields. Any pod work or shield work; do it in your dreys or here. Ok?”

  They all shouted back, “YES, boss!”

  Davy turned to Whitey, “When you get down to the dreys send the others up,” then to the group he added, “and leave the new shields in here for the other group. You’ll all get one.”