War of Old and New

Thank you for your responses.

I shall consider your oppinions.



Random fact: Icencourt county is the largest county in Northland. Mannaheim is a united collective of six human kingdoms. Svealand is the governing kingdom of those six. Alfheim is the elven kingdom and lies east of Mannaheim.






War of Old and New.





A many or so hours later on horseback found Frail with an aching backside. It was a dull ache, and continued to gnaw at his muscles, but at the moment easy to ignore. He knew however that tomorrow or this night, it would blossom into a sharper kind of pain and leave his muscles stiff and sore. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to. He could also feel a nice head ache starting to build in the front of his head.



It was a long time ago since he’d travelled on a horse. The few times he’d been on horseback in the military had been brief. After basic training there had been no need for horses or riding. It wasn’t until he’d become an officer he’d come in contact with horse riding again. And still it hadn’t been often. Or for any longer period of time. This trip would prove straining to his backside. As would the company he had.



They had been traveling for about seven hours and had stopped twice in the beginning. It was a slow start to their long journey. A pleasant surprise had been that the spy had stopped bothering him and amused himself to annoy Jo and Jim. The two young men didn’t seem to mind however and indulged the dark haired man in pleasant conversation. What both annoyed and amazed Frail was that from the sound through the wooden walls, although muffled, it seemed as if they’d talked nonstop for close to four hours now.



The sun had begun to set again, now sinking low behind the clouds and at the edge of a distant forest. The hours of sunlight where few and where still becoming less and less. It wouldn’t change for at least another three months. Winter in these northern parts where dark, cold and long. Full of snow and ice.



The horse kept rocking beneath him. A steady rhythm of his hips. The rough leather protective gear chafed softly against his thighs and his fingers where cold despite the gloves he wore. Squinting into the light streaming out between the wide spread cloud to his right Frail could see the sun as a dark shadow behind. It was strange to be able to look at the sun through the clouds. It looked strange.



“It’s beautiful, the sunset. Even if it is pale like this.” Flo interrupted his thoughts and he glanced back at her. She was watching him with a lopsided smile, the reins loose in her hands. Her dark hair was pulled back into a braid but a few strands of hair had escaped and now framed her face. With a squared jaw and unusually large and muscled body she wasn’t a typical beauty. She was quiet, steadfast and very kind.



“Yeah, it’s gentle. Almost…” frail. He smiled back before turning his eyes to the road again. This main road was wide and frequently traveled. They’d met two caravans heading to Icencourt, both of them merchants. There would be more traffic along this road and Frail had planned to use a less travelled road after the next town they came across .



Even if the threat to Johan was small he wouldn’t take any chances. He’d not fail this simple mission because of indolence.



Frail. His mother had named him that when she’d first seen him after being born. Apparently he’d been small and thin as a newborn as well. Her name had been Swan Odensson and she’d had long blond hair and warm grey eyes. The clearest memory he had of her where when the two of them, along with his brother, where cloud spotting. It was during summer they’d laid on the slope in the park and seen animals and creatures among the white clouds. Happy times.



The left side wheel in the back creaked every once in a while after hitting a bump in the road. The hinges objected from time to time and there was the constant chatter of the three inside the wagon. Right now Frail wished he was in the wagon, protected from the wind and out of the saddle.



Look for...anything.



“When should we make camp?” Flo drew his attention again.



“A few hours into the dark. We’ll increase the travel time as we go, hopefully everyone will adjust better that way.” He reasoned, it would also get him out of the saddle faster and hopefully decrease the amount of pain he’d be in tomorrow.



“It sounds good Frail.”



It really did.




---




They found a good spot a little way off the side of the road. The wagon was placed between the camp site and road to block out as much light from the fire as possible to anyone who might or might not pass by. It was a commonly used camping site but they were alone this time. There were still traces, probably of the two caravans they’d met earlier on, of others left. Old campfires. Tracks in the dirt.



Frail had slid out of the saddle and taken care of his horse, painfully moving about with legs feeling as if he still was in the saddle. He stood to the side, listening to the others moving about and making camp. Preparing a time table for watch and stretching cramped muscles. The darkness was thick around them, the clouds had cleared away and left the sky filled with stars, with the new moon nothing more than a sliver in the sky. It'll be cold tonight.



Bending his knees a little he felt the muscles stretch uncomfortably across his backside. He sighed and loosened the leather straps of his light armor. Nice. Brushing the hair out of his face he took a deep breath, tucking some of the wild strands behind his ears.



“What a surprise.” Frail turned around, coming face to face with Johan. His head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed, watching Frail with a smile. The robes were wrinkled and still covered up his person by hanging limply from his shoulders. Having caught Frail’s attention he came closer and before breaking the breif silence. “Are you an elf then? Is that why you’re so young looking?”



Frail knew he was tired when he didn’t react to the comment about his heritage. Watching as the spy came closer he resisted the urge to take a step back. Up close the other was intimidating and both taller and wider across his shoulders than he was. His eyes were intense but the face open and friendly. Suddenly the idea of this man being a spy didn’t seem as improbable as it had before.



“No, I’m a half-elf. A Half-human if you’d prefer.” He confessed, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. A half-thing. Half-elves weren’t uncommon in the country. It was because of the poor relationship between elves and humans that left half-elves where frowned upon. Elves and humans both disliked them. Part of both worlds but belonging to neither. “And keep your distance.”



Ever heard of personal space, bub.



“I don’t mind.” Johan replied, shrugging and staying close despite the warning. Eyes sweeping over his face, curious. “You’re not as tall as an elf though, you’re actually shorter than me. Your mother’s a northerner then?”




“Why would I tell you?” Frail snapped, seeing no reason to share anything with this former spy. The man didn’t seem to take offence. If anything the other seemed almost amused by his response to the questions and that irritaiting smile returned. Frail frowned and watched the other’s face before snorting and attempted to go back to the camp. But brushing past Johan he found his hand caught in a firm hold. Strong fingers warm against his cold hand.



“I’m... sorry Frail.” He said slowly “You have no reason to tell me. I am just curious about you. As I believe you are about me.”



“Why’d you think that?”



“Because you’ve yet to pull away.”



Frail stared silently at the other, lips parting but finding himself unable to object. Looking down he saw his pale hand still caught in Johan’s darker one. A tanned thumb started a slow caressing motion over the back of his hand. What the hell! He jerked his hand away as if he’d been burnt. Looking at his fingers as if there’d be a mark left from the touch before sending the other a glare.



“I’m tired. And I have no interest in you.” He huffed, trying to sound indifferent. “I don’t like men wearing dresses.” And with that he turned and hurried back toward the now crackling fire.



“It’s a robe.”



Whatever.





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So, still a good pace? Characters ok? Too much, too little of anything?



Thank you for reading =)