These Old Bones

3-2

He hadn't injured himself, only reminding him that he was no longer that man that could practice for hours and then go out and kill twenty men before breakfast. He was old. Older than he had any right to be. He groaned, pushing himself back up and turned to hobble painfully back to the fire. The fire that had burned low.

Brorzjav frowned. He didn't think he'd practiced long enough to let the fire die down so much. He dropped Notch and the buckler onto his bag and ran a hand over his clothes. Not completely dry, but far more dry than they had been. Collecting wood from the pile, he stacked it up on the fire and watched as the flames caught once more. He frowned again. He'd pay for that much exercise in the morning. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead and caught a glimpse of the pool once again.

He sucked at his gums. It wouldn't hurt. A little water. A quick wash, dry out before the fire, put his clothes back on and be away early the next morning. Only a quick wash. He wouldn't even need to get his head wet. A rub under the armpits, a quick splash between the legs. Maybe get a wee branch with a few leaves on to scrub his back. In and out.

As he laid on his back, gazing up at the wispy clouds floating by, he tried to remember the last time he had had a proper bath. Could be that was all the way back in Dendri, after the last war. Could be earlier than that. Or later. It didn't matter. He let the cool water slop around him, then dipped his head back, allowing his hair to drift like a collar above him.

After a few minutes, he stopped his idling and began scrubbing his hands over his body, paying attention to the sweaty parts, the joints and cracks. He cupped water into his ears and wiggled his little fingers inside, grimacing at the black muck that came out of them. He dipped his beard in the water and ran fingers through it, then did the same for his hair. Although his fingers caught in the knots far more in his hair.

Once finished, he noticed the fire had died down again. Luckily, there were many dead branches and twigs about the quarry, including a few thick branches that could burn away through the night. He may even awaken to a still burning fire.

His clothes had dried, now, and only his underclothes remained to join them and even they were almost ready to dress into. While he waited, he chewed on some rabbit from the morning. He tried nibbling it as the girl had, but it felt like he hardly ate anything, so he returned to biting off chunks instead.

Tired, now, he dressed back into his clothes, wrapped his cloak about him and settled his head against his bag. The fire spat and crackled as the larger branches caught aflame and Brorzjav looked across at where the girl would have laid, had he not left her in Trellside. He shook his head, lifting up and turning the bag until he found a more comfortable spot. He laid back down and closed his eyes.

"Ho! Old One!" The voice assailed his ears and Brorzjav almost cursed the owner of the voice not allowing him his sleep.

He jumped up, opening his eyes to find day had come and, with it, a familiar face sat upon a horse. What was her name? Tora? Terrea? Tiera! That was it! He looked her over with his sleep blurred eyes. She seemed none the worse for wear, save for a bandage about her throat.

"Eh, Tiera! A'day to you. What brings you to this old goat's camp?" He stood up, his legs not grieving him as much as he expected they would.

"I think you dropped something back in Trellside." Tiera hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

At first, all Brorzjav could see were a set of bags thrown down to the ground from the back of the horse. Then, after what appeared like a short struggle, a figure dropped to the ground beside them. A short figure, wearing a black, hooded cloak and matching black breeches and jacket.

Viriili.

"Oh, bugger me." Brorzjav groaned as he saw that intense look once again.

-+-