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Martyn narrowed his eyes against the raging sun as he looked out over the desert, to the forests beyond. Somewhere in there was Ren, probably getting stepped over by the other players wanting to enchant their items for free. Behind him, Scar was setting up chests with their stuff as he pitched his ideas for a monopoly to him. Martyn had just spent the last day and a half pitching a business to whoever was there to listen. Often, he didn’t even ask if they wanted to listen. Their presence alone was enough to get Martyn talking. Because of it, Scar’s words sounded very familiar. The main difference was that Ren went out of his way to get the necessary equipment so others didn’t have to go through all the trouble of getting an enchanting table, but anyone could technically make an enchanter whenever they wanted, while Scar, instead, wasn’t satisfied with living in the desert.
He wanted a whole monopoly, and he wouldn’t stop until he achieved it. Martyn hadn’t been able to talk him down from it, his suggestions falling on deaf ears.
At least that meant Scar could hold his ground. He was bold.
“You really think we can control the whole desert? All of it?” It spread out in every direction but behind them, a barrier cutting it in half.
“Of course!” Scar said nonchalantly. Then he stopped for a moment and added, “Although Grian did suggest taking all the dark oak saplings too, before you came along.”
Martyn’s ears perked up until he heard the implications in the words.
“No,” he rushed to say. “I’m not chopping down a whole forest for you, no way.” He shook his head for emphasis.
Scar pouted. “But you owe me from the creeper pranks.”
Martyn kicked the sand from under him. “Doesn’t mean I’ll break my knuckles for you. If you want me to go around selling sand, I can do that.”
“No, no,” Scar rushed to correct him, and laid his right hand on Martyn’s right shoulder. Martyn tensed at the contact.
Against his hand, hanging straight by his side, Scar’s free fingers gently made contact with his palm, barely there, just present enough to leave a tingling sensation after they lifted, before a wooden texture came to replace it. Scar’s hand was slow to retract.
“You and I,” Scar continued, leaning forward so their heads were level with each other, both looking out into the desert. “Dark oak. Just picture it.” He made an arch in the air with his now free hand. The hand he had just given him the axe with. “Scar and Martyn’s Desert and Dark Oak Emporium.” He turned around to face him. He was close. “What do you say?”
Martyn side-eyed him. “Rolls off the tongue…” he said sarcastically. Scar’s right hand was still on his shoulder. He tensed up further.
“Exactly!” Scar seemed too enthusiastic to not be aware of the actual meaning of Martyn’s words. His smile was too sharp, too threatening, maybe not even purposefully so. Martyn straightened and gripped the axe tight with both hands.
Scar’s smug smile as he let go of Martyn’s shoulder and took a step to the side made him drop his shoulders and let out an exhale. The axe was weighty in his grip. He could’ve let his Blue Sword Boy take the blame, but it was his own fault Scar hadn’t reacted to the hissing of a living explosion waiting to happen.
He’d stood up in Grian’s place.
He’d done this to himself.
His reflection in the axe shoved uncertainty back. Martyn couldn’t let that stand.
With determination, he pursed his lips and took a deep breath. Looking back, his reflection nodded in approval.
“Where’s this forest you found, anyway?”
—
Their base was nothing great or even out of the ordinary. It was just enough to survive, not like they planned on staying long in there. Just two beds and a roof over their heads, a furnace in its own room that wouldn’t let the heat spread to the sleeping quarters, and that was about it. Enough to cool down from the endless heat in the few moments they stayed there, and enough to prepare whatever it is they may need.
Oh, and, of course, a storage where they put all their hard earned labour from cutting down the whole forest.
Or forests. Piles and piles of dark oak wood that could’ve gone to waste had Martyn not remembered seeing another patch of forest somewhere else in their small ‘playground’. It would have been only a matter of time before the others noticed the second patch of dark forest and all their work turned out to be for nothing.
Despite arriving at the second location, their hands were too injured to keep on chopping. It would be too much. His own hand closed into itself and opened nervously, as if Martyn was trying to feel the handle of the axe against him again, or perhaps just trying to feel the beginnings of callouses below his fingers.
Martyn looked up at the yet intact forest to go, a pit in his stomach forming.
Scar’s fingers once again made contact with his palm before letting go of two objects. A cold and smooth surface, shaped like a ‘u’ of sorts, rested alongside a tough and ever so slightly rough texture. He didn’t have to look down to know exactly what it was.
Flint and steel, a promise of destruction in its wake.
Martyn smiled, his eyes set ablaze with the orange inferno reflecting across his face. Scar laughed by his side, no longer touching, but giving him space. His laughter was sharp, inviting, encouraging. Pride and exhilaration fed into each other, Scar’s laughter adding fuel to the fire.
Maybe teaming up with Scar wouldn’t be too bad.
He raised a chipped down iron axe into the sky, the metal radiating heat, the grooves cutting through the smoke-stained air with a purpose.
Scar leaned in and held up his own in response.
Yes, it wouldn’t be all that bad at all.