Ken Stewart

Memories

The jingling sound of metal on metal woke Jordy with a start. He peered out from under the fallen pile of brick and rotting wood that probably used to be the outside wall of a house. This small pocket underneath the debris was his shelter last night. The sound was moving away from him but that didn’t mean anything. He had almost been caught once by assuming that no more noise meant safe to come out. It didn’t, not any more. He stayed where he was, breathing through his mouth and searched the lightening gloom of predawn for the source of the noise. Raiders? Travelers? Trader? If it was a trader, he could use some supplies.