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.