The heat of the sun and the reflection from the road is worse without the plants to break it up. Taking my waterskin from my belt, I find it almost empty. A detour to the water pump will not add much time to my trip. My house is too far away to get some water from the tap.

  With my waterskin refilled, I set off towards the fields again. By the time I set the cart down and begin to unload the sickles and scythe blades, I am covered in sweat again. My tunic, which has been cleaned so much it is nearing a cream colour, absorbs a lot of the sweat. I am glad that my medicine has reduced my body odour. It was almost unbearable being in the sun all day and smelling myself. I sweat less now that I’m treating my dysphoria, but I have just been pushing a heavy cart.

  Wiping my forehead with a sleeve, I close the shed behind me. For a moment, I listen to the sounds of the wind in the crops, eyes closed to gather myself for a moment. A high thin sound pulses through my head. With my energy drained from moving the cart, the sound sets my teeth on edge. I scour the scene in front of me, looking for the source. Movement in the treeline.

  Ohno. The treeline?

  I cannot move – others in the fields clutch their heads. I am not the only one to hear the sound. The scene remains unchanged for a long moment before greenskins pour from cover behind the shade of the trees in the distance. They surge down the embankment scurrying like ants from this distance. Some call them orcs, but there are other skin colours on record. These greenskins are the ones who attack us sometimes. The tree break. It worked for so long. What happened?

  Flames blasting upwards from the stalks of drying crops arrest my attention. I turn, wrenching the shed door open to arm myself for defense. The sickles are curved, with a long top tip, which is better than nothing. We don’t have swords in the sheds. Or spears. Everyone who can’t see the greenskins will be plucking out crops by the roots, holding the roots together in the hope they can be replanted once the fire is finished. Those who can see the raiders should be fleeing for their lives. Their lives are more important than the crops.

  With a sickle on my belt and one in each hand, I slam the shed door and bolt towards my field. Shaun, climbing the slope up to the road between fields notices the raiders, stopping conflicted. He is torn between running for the gates and dealing with the fire.

  “Shaun!” I call out, huffing and puffing from the effort of rushing towards him. I brandish one of the sickles, relief lighting up his face as I approach. “Use this if you have to. Lets go.” I dart down the road ducking to the left into a field far enough from the oncoming wave of greenskins that we should have enough time to create a fire break before the fire arrives. Unless their fire source travels with them.

  “This one. If we stop the fire here, we can save most of the crops.” Shaun runs down the other end of the field, plucking out plants as he goes and tossing them away from the fire. We both keep an eye out for the approaching raiders. Between pulling out plants, I check to watch their progress. I can see over the raised paths, finding the entire raid to be made up of the smallest greenskins. Those who take orders from the larger commanders. Yet there are no commanders to be seen. On top of that, they seem to be mindlessly clutching torches and flailing limbs as they hurtle towards the town. Descending from the paths into the fields, they pass out of sight, bending stalks as they go. Thankfully, they do not focus on the fleeing workers. By the time this field has a fire break completed, they are in the next field.

  Oh no, Naomi is over there – defenceless!

  Taking a deep breath, I watch the raiders paths, hurrying over to where she is working. If I call out to her, she will get distracted. Hurry!

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  I push a sickle at her. “Naomi, I picked these up. I’ll help with this bit. But if you see them come over the path, run, okay?” she nods, gratefully. The smoke from the outer fields is rising, and soon it will block out the sun. Gritting my teeth, I continue my work.

  Naomi hustles towards the town gates, at last, leaving me alone in the field. Other workers have already completed their work, while the far fields are left to their own devices. They saw the greenskins first. And they don’t have anything to defend themselves with. We didn’t think the tree break would fail this quickly. There were no signs!

  My jaw clenching so hard it might shatter, I press on. On the raised road, I can see where the front line of torches is. My feet beat against the ground, my new boots making it easier than ever. Leaping into the crops, I hurry over to the greenskin. It’s eyes are red, sightless. Putting a boot into its chest, I kick it backwards, the torch falling from its hands. Sticking the head into the dirt extinguishes it, and now I have a club.

  Clonking the greenskin raider on the head as gently as I can while still knocking it out, I push forwards. The approaching line is scattered, which is a blessing. It makes their progress sporadic. Why don’t they all have torches? Who did this to them?

  The heat of the fire makes it impossible for me to go straight to the treeline. The morning sun is blocked by the clouds of smoke, darkening the sky. I’m starting to flag – I haven’t had lunch yet, and I’ve been busier than I normally am. The cart, the running, making the fire breaks. Only the need to find out why drives me onwards. Nothing the successful firebreaks doing their job, I breathe a sigh of relief at the still air. If there was a breeze, this could all be for nothing. All the workers are gone – a steady stream of them making their way into the town gates already.

  Rubbing my arm, my hand comes away bloody. I didn’t realise how many scratches I had on me. The harsh stalks of the ripening crops was enough to draw blood. Wiping my hand on my tunic, I pick up the pace. I’ll deal with that later. If I make it that far.

  There are no more greenskins. The raiders have left the treeline, leaving it calm and still. Slowing to a walk to conserve energy, I peer into the dimness beneath the canopy. I still have several field lengths to go, giving me time to pull my waterskin from my belt and take a long drink. Swishing it around relieves some of the dryness, but I spit the rest out. Drinking too much while you’re moving around makes it sit in my belly and slosh around.

  I can feel eyes on me. The feeling of being perceived is something I’ve always been sensitive to. In the expanse of the treeline, I can’t pin it down. Scanning, I pull the brim of my hat down lower. If I can block out most of the sun peeking through the smoke cloud I might be able to … Is that a commander? I can see something – a different green to the shrubs crouching between mighty trunks. It seems to be leaning against a tree further back from where they emerge from the soil. Narrowing my eyes, I pick up the pace. If I can drive this one off, maybe I can prevent any further raiding. Its eyes switch to me, the force of the hatred and madness almost a physical blow. Now I can see its grin – pointed teeth in a gash stretching from pointed ear to pointed ear.

  No turning back now. Pulling my sickle from my belt, I clutch its smooth handle. I don’t know what I’m going to use it for but having it in my hand helps. I should have picked up a torch. Having a straight, long piece of wood might be better.

  With no time to stop and pick up a second weapon, I reach the edge of the fields, and move into the treeline.

  “Hey, why are you doing this?” I bellow, my voice cracking from the strain of speaking through parched lips. The commander straightens, pushing off the tree it was leaning against. It’s ears have chunks missing, one tip completely gone. It’s eyes fixed on me, its grin, impossibly, widens.

  “It comes to me. How precious.” It holds the last word, long fingered hands clutching at the air in front of it. Stopping several metres away from it, I shudder at the horrible sound. “Have you come to fight then, little human?”

  I swallow, wishing I had taken another drink of water before I approached.

  “Take your kin and go.” I say, with all the force I can muster.

  “I don’t want to.” It croons, long tongue darting between pointed teeth. “I think I’ll bring mooore of them.”

  “Leave now.” Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I can feel my heart in my throat. What do I do? If I attack will it do worse?

  I see its eyes flick to the metal curve of the sickle, its hand flicking out of sight before lifting a club of timber with metal studs onto its shoulder.

  “It threatens me? Mmmm, I’ll enjoy thisss.” It leaps towards me.