Story for the Day: The F Word

The F Word                The commander entered the kitchen from yeoman's quarter entrance of the keep to find Martje sitting at the table near the window with some tea in her hand and a large slice of sponge before her. She seemed downtrodden and dejected, resting her chin on a bent hand and staring sighingly out the window, her countenance rapt in despondent consideration. She only moved to sip her tea and lift her slice of cake to her lips. She masticated an a dour pose, seeming to...