Saturday, November 27, 2010

page 4

Catta sighed as he walked off. Kenit was strong and fair of face; tall and almost a man. In other days, he'd had his eye on her sister Lily, visiting their stead often. He had been oblivious to Catta's lingering looks and sighs, then. Now, she had no time for such foolishness. Now, he felt more like a brother than anything else, and she supposed she should go put on her own woolen tunic and help gather what he chopped, and bring it back to the wagon. The coffee had cooled quickly enough to drink down before she left. Porridge could wait until after the wood was collected. When the wood was stowed, there was time for breakfast, and more coffee. Then breaking down camp and packing their belongings carefully in the wagon.

Wallach Kelling left his young charges to that task without a word. The attacks on the farmsteads and Bobkin Village had left about 50 refugees, eight of whom, like him, had once been Baron Ahngrine's soldiers to earn their granted land on the frontier. The rest of the refugees were the elders and youngers of the men who had served together.

The men fell into the habits of those days easily, and one of the men who had been scouting since dawn, reported to his "Century," Kelling. " The main road to Maston is to the south, and it seems clear enough."

"Clear enough for an ambush," Kelling replied. "I think we should stick to the woods."

"It's slow going. The road would be faster," another said. "The faster we get there, the sooner we can warn them. Get news to the Baron."

"Which is why they will be watching the road."

There were nods around at that logic, and the first man continued his report, " To the southwest is a stream that we can follow. It will give us good water, and turns to the west about a mile north of Maston."

"That should do," Kelling said. "Let's get moving."

1 comment:

  1. So far, my challenge is to remember to let the characters speak instead of me just relating the story.

    ReplyDelete