Treasure Hounds

Writing Battle: Wonder 2025 entry.

2025

Genre: Adventure Character: Follower Object: Tobacco 993 Words.

“Now light the tip and breathe in.”

The boy did so, eagerly placing the lit cigar in his mouth. His face contorted in disgust as bitter, burnt tobacco coated his tongue. I allowed a wolfish smile to spread across my face. “Let it fill your lungs. Let it burn and sting. Learn to love that pain.”

Before the child could even register my motion, I whipped my fist straight into his stomach.

“‘Cause there’s gonna be a lot of it.”

He fell to his knees and retched, violently coughing and gasping as tobacco-stained spit flew out of his mouth.

“You want to be a Treasure Hound, street rat? You want to follow me to gold and glory? Learn to enjoy the pain, ‘cause this life will give you plenty before it blesses you with even the smallest morsel of wealth. We live and die for the coin wherever it’s found, in contract, cave, or cut-purse. You want me to take a runt like you as my pup? You need to show you’re a good investment.”

The poor whelp took a moment to recover between hacks of smoke and gulps of air. As I looked back up, I presented him with the cigar.

“Well? Are you?”

Without hesitation he put the roll back in his mouth, taking in as deep a breath as he could. I clicked my tongue in approval. Might get some weeks of use out of him.

“Alright, pup. Let’s earn some coin.”

“I’ll rip yoush apart like I did mehown mother!”

Whilst I was disposing of the main bandit troupe, my pup was separated and cornered by their leader. A damn embarrassing sight considering they were drunk while celebrating their latest successful raid.

I stood by and watched the drunken bandit wildly swing at the boy, taking a spare cup of drink for myself. No reason he couldn’t pull his own weight. It was about time he put my training to use.

The fight continued much longer than it had to. “He’s waiting for an opening,” I muttered to myself, but I knew that wasn’t true. With each nick and cut the boy got, I felt a strange pause in my heart.

“I’ll ushe your bones as a whet shto-!”

In a final bit of panic and desperation, my pup swung his axe, splitting the bandit’s skull like firewood. After a moment’s pause, he dislodged the weapon with a few quick tugs and let the man fall, dead before he hit the ground.

“Congratulations, pup. ‘Bout time you got your blade wet. Only took a couple months.”

The boy tried to steady his trembling hands as adrenaline slowly cleared from his body. “You…could have helped…” he mumbled, the words barely speaking out his throat.

“If you can’t dispose of a drunk moron, flailing like a puppet, then you’re no use to me.”

The boy stood over his kill, a strong look of contemplation etched onto his face. He struggled to decide what to feel at this moment. Strange emotions swelled inside myself. Relief at his survival? Pride for it? Worry for his future?

Out of habit, I reached for my tobacco pouch, lit a cigar for myself, and tossed the pouch at his feet.

“Get used to this feeling. It will come often.”

I hated to admit it, but I had gotten old the last few years. Politicking proved more lucrative and easier on the body over mercenary work.

Whilst in the lord’s manor for trade negotiations, I had spotted the boy leaving a spare room. A girl pushed him aside as she rushed past, flustered and tugging at her skirt. She stopped for a moment, looked at him with a shy, coquettish smile, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before scampering back to the main banquet hall.

Looked like my pup was still young and spry.

“I see you’re doing your diplomatic duty! Wouldn’t have guessed that the daughter of Lord Sarve would fancy a scrawny whelp like you. Hope you did our kingdom proud!”

My pup’s face, red from his rendezvous with the girl, was quickly turning red from embarrassment.

“Here,” I tossed the pouch to him as I tittered in amusement. “Burn her taste in your mind. That’s all they’ll let you have of her. I should know.” I spoke before realizing what I was saying. The years traveled through my head. Dalliances that could never be more.

Eventually I learned. Coin can buy many things, but a hound’s a hound. An animal can never be royalty, no matter how wealthy it may become. No different than a street rat, some might say.

“Come. We’ve contracts to sign.”

The funeral hadn’t taken long. It consisted of the priest, the local Guild’s registrar, and myself, “His Pup”. I decorated the tombstone with a few treasures from our adventures. No doubt they would be stolen within the week, a fact that I’m sure would amuse him.

I sat in the corner of the local tavern picking through the last of Goren’s possessions, reminiscing over the memories they brought. A gold bracelet from the northern mountains, engraved ritual daggers gifted to us from the Yo’quan tribe in the south, and…a letter addressed to me.

Seemed Goren couldn’t figure out what to write exactly, but amongst all the scratched out words he looked to settle on these;

~~Pup~~ Fellow Hound,

Coin can buy a lot.

Wish it could buy more time.

…Goren Ohrlow

I took out some tobacco and spread the leaves evenly onto the letter, the motions long embedded in my muscles. It seemed fitting.

As I brought the roll to my mouth, I spotted a young boy staring in awe. His eyes tracked my jeweled ring worth more than anything he’d ever seen. A long-dulled ruby resting on a ring engraved with a hound giving chase. The same that caught mine years ago. Goren’s.

“You’ve an eye for value, child. Think you’ve a hound in you?”