Anbar looked down from the battlement, the field in front of him was littered with the campfires of the Garvorian army. He stopped counting at 15, mostly because he couldn’t count any higher and he wasn’t even sure if he got to 15 properly. Caleb, the night watchman, walked over to him and put his hand on Anbar’s shoulder, causing him to almost soil his britches.
“You ok, Anbar?” Caleb asked as he looked at the blacksmith’s son.
“Other than almost crapping my pants, I’m great.” is what Anbar thought, but he only said, “Other than almost crapping my pants.”
Caleb looked at him sideways with a screwed face. “Ok.” He finally responded, shaking the comment off, then looking out at the campfires on the field. “Tomorrow shall be a good day, aye?”
It was Anbar’s turn to look at Caleb with a screwed face. “Why’s that?”
“Battle! Glory! Death!”
“Mine or theirs?
Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: FFfAW
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