The Plucky Hecatonchire
He missed his horse.
Putting one foot mechanically in front of the other, the soles of his 'new' leather boots having long since reduced
his
soles to two large callouses, the knight without a steed whistled tunelessly through his chapped lips. Traveling had never felt like it took this long when you had something else to do all the actual walking. For that matter, he thought as he hiked the brown satchel that held his worldly belongings back up his shoulder, it had never felt this heavy, either.
The chain hauberk, the links obviously (and somewhat ineptly) reworked where they had been torn asunder, was not helping matters. Nor was the battered breastplate he wore over it, bright scars from a recent encounter shining out past the aged steel. His shoulder pads were gone, his gauntlets exchanged for a pair of deerhide gloves in order to settle his debts to the Abbot. A steel half-helm, hooked onto his belt with a piece of twine, clinked against his thigh with every shuffle, while his hand rested on the crossguard of his beloved longsword. The threadbare green cloak draped about his shoulders dragged in the mud. Everything else had been taken from him, or bartered along the way for food and board.
Pausing in the middle of the path, he thought for a moment. No; while he did miss his horse, and could not for the life of him remember what had happened to the poor creature, he missed food more. The two were not incompatible, but there was something more appealing about suckling pork, drizzled in gravy and delivered fresh by the servants... or crackling bacon. The scent of sizzling sausages serenaded him. Venison and stuffed chicken, the peacocks Lord Ridgley had paid so lavishly for, or even just a steak, rare and red-
He shook his head, ignored the rumbling in his belly, and marched on stolidly. All that, he concluded, was better than grabbing a knife and fork and eying up Binky.
All seeing. All knowing. All scumbag.
05-Jun-2015 02:45:54