Market Day

“I’ll take point,” Sicbur said. His short, Dwarven, legs moving swifter than his ample waist would suggest possible, he dodged a sharp slap from his half-elven friend Shadowfox, even in play he could deliver a firm blow.

“Guess you are stuck with me and the wagon,” Elora, their other companion - an immortal currently in Elven form - said, as they set off down the familiar path to the local market town. They rounded a corner and laughed.

“Don’t just stand there,” Sicbur said; trying to hold his beard out his mouth and his sword in its scabbard, as he swung upside down from a rope trap, “do something.”

“Laughing is something,” Elora said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Shadowfox eventually used his sword, severing the rope, belatedly attempting to break the dwarf’s fall.

Sicbur landed in a heap, “ I could have done that. I was hoping for something a little gentler.”

“I can’t believe you fell for one of those, you must be getting old. Best you recover by staying with the wagon, I’ll take point,” Shadow said. Ignoring Sicbur’s glare, he hurried ahead of the laden wagon.

**** **** ****

Shadowfox dangled, with as much dignity as he could muster. Two daggers protruded from the knot that held the rope trap in place, his sword lay on the ground beneath him. He ignored the grin on Sicbur’s face, as the sword sliced through rope, narrowly missing Shadow’s feet. “I owe you an apology, they are very well hidden,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“I guess that leaves me to take point, while you both recover your strength,” Elora said, her face aching from laughter.

“Be careful,” they said in unison.

“No need, I only set the two traps, this route gets so boring I thought I’d liven things up a little,” Elora said, her laughter drowning out their curses.


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