Welcome to the Rainy Day Blogfest. Feel free to leave honest feedback (I'm sure I need it), and swing by and see Christine, our gracious host at The Writer's Hole. Enjoy!
To set the scene' Gemei (and a friend, Radian) are draft-dodgers in a fantasy world. They had to stop for help at a farm when Radian became deliriously ill.
It was very late, well past midnight, when Abe decided it was time to go home. From a forgotten barn on the property of the swill-brewer, they stumbled along wagon tracks and cow paths by the light of the moon. Abe, who had said maybe twenty words in the four days Gemei had worked with him, now slurred bawdy songs and praise for his beautiful wife in turn. Gemei had slept in a corner most of the evening, after throwing up the alcohol that was better suited to dissolving boots. When he came to, he found some ale, as rain thundered and whispered on the old roof in turn. Finding no one his age, he spent much of the evening by a minstrel with his lyre. He now enjoyed a nice glow.
“When I met Merill, she was fine. Dressed plain, see, in her father's fields, picking...OOF!”
“Abe?” Gemei looked up to where he'd been, walking beside him, but Abe wasn't there. He heard him laughing, though. A laugh that cut short in a disgusted noise.
“Aw, bear spawn, was it raining?”
Looking up, Gemei said “I think it still is.” Among the trees, it was hard to tell.
“Well, plainly it was. Plain as the puddle soakin' my breaches. Help me up.” Clasping each other's wrists, Gemei tried to pull the big farmer to his feet. Next thing they knew, they were both in the puddle, Gemei gasping at the cold, and Abe laughing at his effort.
“Yer a good'un Gemmy.” He was as surprised by the arm over his shoulders as the kind words, “but ya ain't no fisherman.”
“Not yet, I...”
“No one'd send lads your age alone to Manos. No one who's been there would trust farm boys to find their way without getting' cheated or conned or worse. And anyone who hasn't thinks if half the stories are true, you's have your eyes stolen by ogres and sold to witch's. No, if your mam and paps are alive, they don't know where you are any more than you do.”
Speechless, Gemei opened and closed his mouth, hoping his story would come, but only a drunken fog filled his head.
“Boy, ya look like one o' them fish you keep talkin' 'bout. No, my guess id it's the Garrison's you're fleein' They'll get ya, sure as sunrise, if it's just the two of ya.” Gemei felt like he was half the age of his fifteen summers as Abe measured him. Looking away, he continued. “By next full moon, the Gypsy's will be passin' through. I'll have a word with 'em. No reason they won't let you travel with them for a season. They're beneath the contempt of the Garrisons, and it'll be easier to stay hid.”
“But, Gypsies? They're...”
“They're decent enough, if they got no cause to take exception to ya.”
Gemei could no longer spin yarns. He'd been laid bare, and the relief was palpable. “My thanks...”
“Pah. Let's get home. Mornin' comes early, and I'd rather work with a head ache than listen to a lecture.”