I hear them before I see them. Loud and scary, out of necessity. Now, they’re Edgers, they have to be rough around the edges. Tough life, theirs – not one I’d want. I like the cushy comforts and the safety of the Inlands; we’d have neither if it wasn’t for them, keeping the enemy out.
SoI feel bad about not wanting Edgers in my eatery. But they’ve terrible table manners. A big bunch of them will drive potential patrons away. They like to fight among themselves, and they’re not afraid of throwing cutlery.
I prefer to admire their roughness from afar.
Every day, he loomed over us like a scarecrow, watching the horizon. Little as we were, we knew he protected us. We didn’t know why we needed protecting, and we didn’t dare ask. He was scary.
One day, we spotted a tall dark figure like him coming our way. We stayed calm. But then he charged down the hill with a bellow, arms windmilling. We ran for shelter, huddled together and waited in silence.
When the door opened, we noticed his black eye, split lip and bloody fist. We couldn’t tell, however, if he was ours or the other one.