Deadweight

horses

  “It’s not everyday one rides alongside a Kilcaine,” Kirk called from atop his horse, glancing over at his companion.
  “Then savour it in silence,” Rose replied bluntly. There was an irritation to her voice she didn’t even attempt to obscure. The silence lasted all but one moment.
  “I mean sure, I’ve ridden with my fair share of dignitaries-”
  “Have you no shred of compassion?” Rose interrupted loudly, rubbing her forehead.
  “-as an escort, mostly,” Kirk carried on, sanguine, “not that kind of escort though, I assure you. I was their means to protect themselves from roadside brutes.”
  “Highwaymen.”
  “And the sort, yes. But I never escorted someone as regal as you, m’lady.”
  Rose sighed. Her father had insisted, the boorish bastard, that this Kirk Kebbal brought her home. Insurance he’d called it. She preferred a pain in the ass. When it came to self-defence she was no slouch and he knew it. Her idea of a perfect journey had two travelling companions – Epoc, her horse, and Erstwhile, her crossbow. Both of which, to her liking, were mute.

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~ by Joseph Blame on February 5, 2011.

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