From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
A week ago Kronk wouldn’t have been wary of strangers. A week ago, Kronk would have loved to meet a stranger. His nature was a happy one, but things had changed quickly. He had since come to understand the saying, “adapt or die.” Watching your home burn down around you had that affect.
That being said, Kronk wasn’t sure if it was his attachment to the Gates or the utter sense of failure that caused him this deep, wrenching pain. He steadfastly considered himself a Gates man, but the union was a new one. On the other hand, Kronk’s sense of honor and responsibility had been with him for as long as he could remember.
But, he had failed, plain and simple, and that stuck in his craw like a weeping, festering wound. Still, when he spotted the newcomer, Kronk tried not to overreact. If the attack caused the Gate’s to abandon their hospitality then the Chamber really would have won. So, it was with sense of urgency, but not hostility, that Kronk approached her. He wasn’t suspicious, per say, but it was hard not to be watchful with the charred remains of the Mother Tree stood not 50 feet away.
The mare smelled like the Jungle, like pungent flowers an climbing vines. Kronk relaxed a little, but still he looked at her carefully, taking note of who she was. He summoned a smile from somewhere on his pinched, tired face.
“Hello ma’am. Do you have business with the Gates? Can I help you find someone?” Again, he hoped he didn’t sound too much like a cop. Perhaps, she would forgive him if he came off as abrupt. Apparently, these days, you couldn’t be too careful.
Photograph by Vivacqua