All That From A Snowball (A Herobrine Adoption Story)

Closing In

     Stupid, foolish, lumbering bags of muscle. He was barely keeping up, constantly being nudged in the back and told to move it. They should have seen that the best way to get up this beast of a hill was the common road. They'd be exhausted and unable to do battle properly if they were shaking and cramping and collapsing.

     As he would be, of course.

     Dig your nails into the rocks, wipe sleet and sweat from your eyes. Place a knee on that ledge and roll to safety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The height of the moon's rise marked the time the hunters finally made 'camp'.

     It was a pitiful camp indeed, as it consisted mostly of small huddles on a ledge barely larger than a one-room cabin. Ephrim was grumbling and by himself, wrapped in his cloak and shaking rocks out of a boot. The men were indeed worn out, and not many words were spoken as they ate their rations, drank a little water, and dropped into an exhausted slumber.

     The morning was much the same as the last. The hunters rose, ate, packed up, and began their ascent again. The thought of quitting and saving himself the trouble of enduring such discomforts crossed Ephrim's mind many times as the heat of the day (thankfully rain-free) bore down on them.

     However, the thought of the riches he could earn kept him stubbornly clawing his way upwards. If he could only get there... he'd be set for a long, long time indeed.

     The day and night passed almost identically to the previous, as did the next, and the next. Adarion allowed his pack half a day of sleep after the third day, just as Ephrim was on the verge of throwing up his hands and returning.

     And, after nearly a week of climbing, the ground began to smooth a little.

     The air became noticeably crisper, and there were bits of slush still littering the shadows of boulders. Trees began to appear more often, as they could now grow on this more even ground.

     And the flickering flame of hope Ephrim clung to...began to grow into a steady blaze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "I think it should be called Troublemaker Chewston... the first."

     "Your names have about as much creativity as a dead painter."

     Jake rolled his eyes, flopping back onto his pile of blankets with a huff, "So cruel."

     Steve shrugged, chuckling as he watched Herobrine tease the enderling with a feather on a string, making it run wildly in circles, vlurping softly, "I only speak fact. It should have a more... real name."

     "Like what, midnight?"

     "No, like... Obsidian."

     "Same difference."

     "How about Manfred or something."

     A snort, "Manfred sounds like a noble butler."

     "Var'el."

     Both men blinked, heads swiveling to face where Herobrine sat, holding onto a squirming End-creature.

     "Var-whatnow?" Jake sat up, raking hair out of his eyes.

     "Var'el... It sound...good. Sound right."

     Indeed, the End-creature had stopped squirming, blinking up at the being quietly. Herobrine petted it, starting up its struggles again.