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December 13, 2022 - January 3, 2023
“They are even prettier than horses,” the monk remarked, glancing back repeatedly over his shoulder as the girl fell behind them. Hadrian laughed. “Yes, they are, but I wouldn’t tell them that.”
“Oh my,” Myron said to Hadrian as he twisted to get a better view. “I don’t even think of horses when I look at her.” Hadrian dismounted and helped Myron off the horse. “I share your feelings, my friend, but trust me, that’s one woman you really don’t want to stare at.”
I once saw an old woman batter him senseless with a butter churn.”
“That must have been an awfully wicked old lady and a big butter churn.”
“I didn’t say we weren’t doing it, did I? Did I say that? No I didn’t. I told the little prince we’d do it. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
“Of course not. I held off because it’s death for a commoner to kill a noble.” “That’s what I thought.” Royce sounded relieved. “For a minute, I wondered if you’d gone from jumping on the good-deed wagon to leading the whole wagon train.”
Through a dull buzzing she heard the sound of a chuckle. “What’s so funny?” she heard one of them say. “This is the first time, I suspect, anyone has ever visited a whorehouse and brought his own woman.”
“Magic is a little like playing the fiddle. It’s damn hard to do without hands.”
The people of Dahlgren had grown accustomed to death. He was a nightly visitor, a guest at every breakfast table. They knew his face, the sound of his voice, the way he walked, his peculiar habits. He was always there. If it were not for the mess he left, they might neglect to notice him altogether.
Anything can look easy if you’re watching someone who’s mastered whatever it is they are doing, but what you don’t see is the hours and years of effort that go into perfecting their craft.
