The other raiders mocked Eddig for returning empty handed. It was fraternal and loving, but mostly relieved; somebody had to return with the worst haul, and each was glad it was someone else. His drop captain looked angry; this would reflect poorly on him. Eddig didn’t care.

He racked his gear with the others, then climbed the stairs to the crowded streets. Once the fighting was done, drop days were festival days. The city needed the resources, and each good drop was a gift of life.

Eddig walked through the celebration, quiet but happy. He’d joined the festivities while younger, but after his experience today this was no longer his celebration. A little girl bumped into him and fell.

He flashed back to the raid. He had landed running, eager to find loot on his first drop. But he’d stumbled. A little landfolk girl, babbling in some landfolk tongue, had helped him up, pointing in fear at the cityscarab hovering above and tugging him toward safety.

In the present, Eddig helped the city girl to her feet with a peaceful smile. Everyone else was wrong. He had brought something back from the raid, something more valuable than iron or wood.