RWG Ficlet
Oct. 4th, 2004 04:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Wet
Word Count: 612
'Damp socks, damp boots, damp shirt. Soaking hair, sopping pack, heavy and dripping oilcloth getting water all over poor Fred. I'll sacrifice a whole quart, two even, at the next temple, if only YOU'd make it stop raining.'
"At least it's not pouring any more, eh Fred?"
The horse's ears flicked back as she spoke, and he snorted. A shake of his sodden mane followed, and Kalla swiped her chilled fingers across a wet cheek.
"Alright. So we've been slogging through this mess for a week. We should be in Farlhelm by tonight, and I promise you'll be sleeping in a warm, dry stall."
Fred's ears swiveled back towards her again, and his feet seemed to move a little more lightly through the clinging mud at the word 'stall'. Kalla patted him gently. Fred was a great horse; who could blame him for being a bit out of sorts after the past several days. It had been a long journey from Esten, a good four hundred miles they were covering in only twenty days. The path was through the back country, the fens and swampy lowlands that made up the eastern portion of Gistle. Farlhelm was the last major city before the border with Tanillon, and the last village of any size had been five days and one hundred miles ago. Sleeping on the road was one thing. Sleeping on the road in a soaking downpour without any kind of relief was quite another.
It was only half a day's ride to the border from Farlhelm, but they weren't going to be taking the trade road. Their route would take them north along the river that divided the two countries. Her crossing was at least another fifty miles from Farlhelm, along the old, abandoned road laid by the Empire. And once she crossed, another hard ride lay ahead. If it hadn't been Sarda who'd called, she wouldn't have bothered. Her life fighting the pirates and southern invaders on the western coast was easy, profitable. More than enough to satisfy the bloodlust. But she owed him. And debts had to be repaid. Even if she hadn't worried about honor, the axe demanded it. She let her fingers trace the shape of the blades under the oilcloth, the curves she knew better than those of her own body.
He was quiet, had been so since they'd taken out a small group of bandits three weeks ago. Even still, she would tend to him in Farlhelm and also make a sacrifice at the temple. There was no point in tempting trouble. Tanillon was dangerous. People who died there tended to rise from their graves. And there were other...things as well. Things she'd be facing with Sarda soon enough. And if he wanted her, or rather them, then these things had to be particularly nasty. Taerythos didn't like supernatural beings. Oh, he killed them, but he said their blood had a taint. He survived mainly on the dark, bitter taste of human sorrow and rage. The re-animated dead had no blood for him to take, and the blood of monsters was sour and foul. Her hand clenched on his shaft; she wasn't fond of monsters, either.
Fred whickered, sensing her mood. Kalla sighed. There would be plenty of time to dwell on the shadowy things that lurked in Tanillon later. For now she just had to endure the next few hours. Then a hot bath and meal. And finally a gloriously DRY bed.
"And a dry stall for you, buddy."
Her horse tossed his head again, spattering her with still more water. Kalla laughed, and sat up straighter in her saddle as Fred began to trot.
Word Count: 612
'Damp socks, damp boots, damp shirt. Soaking hair, sopping pack, heavy and dripping oilcloth getting water all over poor Fred. I'll sacrifice a whole quart, two even, at the next temple, if only YOU'd make it stop raining.'
"At least it's not pouring any more, eh Fred?"
The horse's ears flicked back as she spoke, and he snorted. A shake of his sodden mane followed, and Kalla swiped her chilled fingers across a wet cheek.
"Alright. So we've been slogging through this mess for a week. We should be in Farlhelm by tonight, and I promise you'll be sleeping in a warm, dry stall."
Fred's ears swiveled back towards her again, and his feet seemed to move a little more lightly through the clinging mud at the word 'stall'. Kalla patted him gently. Fred was a great horse; who could blame him for being a bit out of sorts after the past several days. It had been a long journey from Esten, a good four hundred miles they were covering in only twenty days. The path was through the back country, the fens and swampy lowlands that made up the eastern portion of Gistle. Farlhelm was the last major city before the border with Tanillon, and the last village of any size had been five days and one hundred miles ago. Sleeping on the road was one thing. Sleeping on the road in a soaking downpour without any kind of relief was quite another.
It was only half a day's ride to the border from Farlhelm, but they weren't going to be taking the trade road. Their route would take them north along the river that divided the two countries. Her crossing was at least another fifty miles from Farlhelm, along the old, abandoned road laid by the Empire. And once she crossed, another hard ride lay ahead. If it hadn't been Sarda who'd called, she wouldn't have bothered. Her life fighting the pirates and southern invaders on the western coast was easy, profitable. More than enough to satisfy the bloodlust. But she owed him. And debts had to be repaid. Even if she hadn't worried about honor, the axe demanded it. She let her fingers trace the shape of the blades under the oilcloth, the curves she knew better than those of her own body.
He was quiet, had been so since they'd taken out a small group of bandits three weeks ago. Even still, she would tend to him in Farlhelm and also make a sacrifice at the temple. There was no point in tempting trouble. Tanillon was dangerous. People who died there tended to rise from their graves. And there were other...things as well. Things she'd be facing with Sarda soon enough. And if he wanted her, or rather them, then these things had to be particularly nasty. Taerythos didn't like supernatural beings. Oh, he killed them, but he said their blood had a taint. He survived mainly on the dark, bitter taste of human sorrow and rage. The re-animated dead had no blood for him to take, and the blood of monsters was sour and foul. Her hand clenched on his shaft; she wasn't fond of monsters, either.
Fred whickered, sensing her mood. Kalla sighed. There would be plenty of time to dwell on the shadowy things that lurked in Tanillon later. For now she just had to endure the next few hours. Then a hot bath and meal. And finally a gloriously DRY bed.
"And a dry stall for you, buddy."
Her horse tossed his head again, spattering her with still more water. Kalla laughed, and sat up straighter in her saddle as Fred began to trot.
