I think I need to take a couple of days off from both of the new stories I’m working on right now and think about how to get to their endings. I can probably afford a couple of days: I’ve been writing ’em pretty steady.
There were more traps on the stairwell, of the noisemaker variety. There was even an actual string of empty cans, suspended from the ceiling. Jack carefully reached out to look at the half-faded label on one. “Huh,” he said. “These look modern.”
“From the supply caravan that got raided, you think?” asked Anton.
Jack looked at him. “Okay, Anton,” he said. “I’ll just use my special Eater senses to smell if this one can was on that one cart a week ago. You want to know what they were feeding the horse, too?”
“Sure,” said Anton agreeably. “If you don’t mind.”
“Oats.”
“That was fast.”
“It’s always oats.” Jack grinned, quickly, then went on, “But yeah, it’s probably from the caravan. Why we’re here, ain’t it?”