The fight was over. Grishnak checked the old man’s kit: a pointed hat, an empty pouch, a big stick.
Further back in the cave Krange crouched over the smaller body.
‘Anything?’ Grishnak called.
Krange help up an over-large dagger. Too small to be a sword, to big for a knife. And it glowed, a dim marsh-gas blue.
‘Why’s it do that?’
Krange scratched the warts on her chin. ‘Damned if I know. Novelty torch?’
Grishnak kicked the bare feet of the small corpse. Not even a pair of boots. ‘Stupid bastard. Never would have seen them without it.’
# 32 in the ‘Beyond the Streets‘ sequence – a series of 100-word flash fiction.