Hello, Benjamin from Brother’s Campfire here!
COVID is stressing me out. Working in a prison does not help in that endeavor either. Due to interacting with various demographics in person, I have a lot of anxiety about accidentally spreading the virus.
I know there are many lines of thought about it, but I am working in this real or imagined threat and I do not want to be the bad guy.
The American in me rises up at this.
Well, anyways, that is my rant. Some of you want to hear about Ashton. So…
The tall, dark whiplike man who introduced himself simply as Ishaan was quite intent on looking for death to regain lost honor from a battle long ago forgotten by anyone but himself, and he proclaimed his desire fiercely.
“I am Ishaan, I marched with Chandra and they are now dead. I seek to join my brothers. Will someone not give me an honorable death in battle?”
There were no takers. The gentry had other business to attend to and the longboatmen had a rule about folks looking for death in such a manner. Simply put, it was not a good proposition to fight such a one as they had nothing to lose.
The bestiary accusation absolved of any soundness, Ishaan released
Ashton from his bonds and meekly, Ashton thanked him.
Ishaan flashed a quick smile. “It was nothing, for I am in despair. I have spent my youth in war, seeking death and not finding it.
If I cannot find death soon, I will be compelled to settle down and marry.”
Ashton was more concerned about the present. “Sir, do you have any water? I am quite parched from this ordeal.”
“Water?” Questioned Ishaan. “I have milk!”
From his shoulder he procured a tightly sewn leather bag. ” It has not yet curdled!”
At the moment, Ashton could have drank from the sea he was so thirsty. He opened the container to embrace a ripe smell and drink he did. He could feel and taste the grainy chunks of curd travel through his mouth. Curd water! He nearly spit it out.
He mustered a thank you handing the container back. Proudly, Ishaan stated, “cheese and milk are the meat of my people.”
Looking around, he asked, “The man who wanted to take the blame for my actions, who is he? Where did he come from? He looks so familiar. We have crossed paths before I am sure.”
Ashton, minding his manners, tried very hard to be helpful. Not only was he still very thirsty, the taste of sour cheese was now on his palate and he was more concerned for his mother than anything .
“Sir, his name is Jeptha, a woodcutter. He came here not too long ago and he works for the Alderman.”
Ishaan was shocked.
“No….it cannot be. You must tell me where he lives, he is not the same as he once was!”
“How so?” Asked Ashton. The tall, thin warrior cocked his head with incredulity, “For starters, he had a LOT more hair than he did when I saw him last.”
Ashton was a little surprised, but took a wild guess nonetheless based on experience and what his mom had told him.. “This is the same man who yells about eating predators every full moon?”
Ishaan chuckled. “ Yes. Do tell, where can I find him? We have some catching up to do!”
After sending the man on his way to see Jeptha, Ashton’s foggy, dehydrated and hungry brain had a moment of clarity.
It was time to start making assertive steps to not be walked on. Here he was, almost beheaded, giving directions to long lost buddies.