“We don’t get much call for sling bullets,” the old shrew said, thick eyebrows almost hiding his eyes as he looked at his customer. Shorter than he was, young, perhaps naïve, a young mouse with tawny fur, wide black eyes, and a slim form. He looked like he knew his slings, with two longer slings wrapped around his waist and forehead to match the one loose at his wrist.

The mouse looked around expectantly at the weapon shop, the arrayed swords and shields, polearms and bows, all noted with a neat sign and price. At the counter were the normal potions, bright in their glass containers, as well as tents and antidotes and all the rest that you would expect in a well-run shot for adventurers. “Why not?” he asked, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Higher DPS with the bow,” he explained. “Some like the crossbow for it’s higher damage, helps against armoured foes, y’know, but most prefer the bow. No one uses the sling.” His tone was matter-of-fact, though perhaps a little sad.

The mouse was adamant, though. “I’ll stick with what I have. So, do you have any?”

The old shrew smiled. “Of course! This way…” He led the way back into the hallway of the shop and stopped at a door. Moving to the side, he tugged. Lead almonds rattled out on to to the floor, a small tidal wave of bullets. “Like I said,” the old shrew said, “We don’t get a lot of slingers.”

* * *

The mouse sat at the fire, fingering through the bullets. They were finely made, looking like almonds and acorns, textured and sculpted. Someone had put work into this. There were advantages to using the sling: longer range, cheaper bullets. However, for adventurers, who went in to the claustrophobic dungeons and came out with bags of loot, they were not important advantages. Yet, these bullets were beautiful things.

He rested at the fire, waiting. He’d been looking for a group to join for a while. People would come, see that he was a mouse and a slinger, and leave. Sometimes with a nasty comment, sometimes with a laugh, some even would talk to him to try to help him see the benefit of bows, but most just silently left as quick as they came. Still, he knew that someone, enventually…

She appeared into the light of the fire. A wolf, though not the traditional Siberian or even larger north American wolf, she was smaller, more lean. She wore an arm and ashoulder guard, a small breast plate, and wielded a trident in one hand while holding a net in the other. Tomas smiled. “You look like someone who’d be willing to adventure with me,” he said.

She looked him over, then nodded. “You couldn’t get anyone else to stay either, huh?” She smiled, and sat down beside him. “Guilia.” Even though she was small for a wolf, she still towered over him by several inches.

“Tomas,” he replied. “Shall we wait?”