a beginning

Olrif swaggered (slightly) down the middle of the way, warily enjoying the midday Sun. His head was bleary from the night's drinking. He relished the ease and confidence he felt, and he put his hand on his purse, as he turned down a side way.

It was shadier and less dusty, and a woman offered him fruit. He scowled a moment and fished a few coppers from his purse, accepting the melon she gave him with a slight smile.

He carved it with his knife and ate it as he went.

There, not far along, shaded by an awning, was the kind of provisioner he sought.

"How much is a round of cheese and … three bags of hardtack?" he asked the portly, smiling man.

"Five coppers," said the man, expectant.

"And … a full wineskin."

"Twelve more," said the man, smiling.

Olrif fished out the coins, the man gathered the things for him, and Olrif stuffed them in his pack and continued his way.

After passing many vendors, and eyeing (and catching the eye of) many women he found the blacksmith's and ducked in out of the bright sun, blinking.

A filthy, burly man hammered hotly at his anvil.

Olrif appraised the finished weapons on the wall.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing, when the other had left off his hammering to see to him.

"This is a morning star," said the man, gripping the handle and lifting it from the wall.

Olrif said, "Is it not unwieldy?"

The other shook his head seriously. "It gets around the foeman's shield."

Olrif nodded sagely, feeling he could use another drink.

"New to weaponry?" said the man.

"Oh no," said Olrif.

"Off to the war then?"

"No," the young man said, after a pause.

"Just looking to arm then?"

"Yes."

"Ah. A sword is best, but a spear is more affordable--"

"A sword. I am looking for a good sword."

"Here is a fine blade for thirty gold."

"And that one?"

"That one is eighty," said the man meaningfully.

Olrif's heart broke slightly. It was a beauty; shining and snell and dark.

"Thirty five for that sword and that shield and that leather jerkin," he said.

The man considered, looking at the youth. "That's a deal," he said, and as he went to get the things, he glanced back again.

Olrif paid and took his new equipment and strapped it on and left: back out into the sun and the dust; and the blacksmith watched him go.

"Where you going?" said a dark haired lass from the shadows. He smiled at her and kept walking, and he left town by the main road and kept walking until he came to the creek, where he stopped in the shade of a willow tree.

He washed his feet and his face and tilted his head back in the sun, and drank his fill and lay back gazing up peaceably at the sussurous willow boughs. Then he ate the cheese he had bought and bowed his head and bethought him of his fortune.

He had left the farm not three days hence. He wondered if he were missed. He pondered the road ahead, and if should seek the city or another way.

He lay back again and dozed off to the sound of the wind in the willow and the gently gurgling water.

He woke to the sound of horses and men.

"Ho!" said one. "What's that, a lounger?"

Olrif rose and regarded the two men in the cart, which was coming to a stop.

"Good day," he said, uncertainly.

"Aye," said the other.

His companion guffawed.

Olrif wished they would keep going; but they got down and unharnessed their horses to drink.