Claude and Daryl Score

"This where we came out last spring, Cecila and I after the maypole celebration I had some of the strand left from the pole the good kind you now from Joseph with the beady little eyes and the breath like dank horse vomit he's a real fuck but he knows about making the lines for the poles he makes is straps from scraps cause they let him clean the abatior the filthy fuck he does it for the scraps dries em on the line of that filthy little encampment of his down where the creek gets shallow and it either smells like deer piss or is flooding some grand muddy mess.  Anyway so I had this strap and I was holding it you know kind of behind my back well I actually had two you see and Cilla was holding the other wrapped around her wrist like holding herself up she was so drunk I said I know this is the way back to the village don't worry about a thing were going of course thats what I'm saying you know but right where veering a little I was sort of you know whatching her face and I know you know what I know, a path diverge in the woods like..."

Claude and Daryl where on the other side of the bog and Claude was getting seriously tired of Daryls shit.  He had no idea why Daryl was compelled to paint himself in this light.  This boy who bathes in a smock. 

"an then so her arms wrapped around the log and I have the other one there and her bare ass in the moon light I take the other strap and..."

Is this how people think they are to impress me?  Is there some rumor that I am the mushroom of the village thriving on ample bullshit.  Is it just to amuse.  Dear lord does he have an erection. 

"Shh Daryl I think I hear something..."

The soft rustle.  It was near now.

"You want me to?"

"Daryl, you are the best"

Daryl's face goes calm he sniffs a bit then pips a little squeeky bark.  He waits a minute then again.  Then waiting and as Claude is about to step on a response.  A pip.  Daryl does it again shuffling feet to not disturb a branch.  The pips return louder this time and then they move closer.  Daryl massaging the call and response to a frenzy until they are right over it.

"And here lad"

Claude puts a shovel in the dark earth and the earth collapses revealing the dugout and 6 tiny mewing pups.

"Ah no seven look at that one"
"I don't even know if that one will count"
"Bird in the hand my friend"
"Well quickly now"

They lift the pups and begin chopping off their tails.  Claude is done with three before the Daryl even completes one.  He never sharpens his blade.  No rocks on the bog he always says.  The short and gruesome work is done the whimpering pups back in the disturbed nest in a state of shock or death.  Claude realizes how close to dusk it is momentarily worried.  They should be fine.  They will have a good collection by the time the boar hunters come back.  They will take the tails and curl them and sell them to the hunters.  The hunters after dropping the pig carcasses off at the abattoir get paid by the tails they present the field accountant.  The unscrupulous hunters which are nearly all of them will pay for the counterfeit tails.  This is one of the ways the people across the bog have managed to cling on since their land and husbandry rights where stripped after they rose up against the Abbey three generations ago.

The mewing pups could still be heard as they walked briskly through the forest.  The blood drying on his hands the weight of the limp worms in his satchel.  The hunger in his belly the discomfort of his shoes and clothing. 

"So then Cecila.." started Claude
"Oh yeah man well she was howling like a banshee and of course at that time I'm getting a bit wicked myself so then yeah did I say I had three straps thats right I had three so anyway..."

And so it was across the bog.