I was only afforded a second of grace, strangely wondering about the complexities of my digestive system, before another deluge of sludge came spewing forth on the wet grass by my vile-spattered boots. I was desperately holding onto the world with one hand, bracing against the wooden stage next to me; while the other held onto its escape: a bottle of brandy.
"Never again" I cursed the next morning as the bright light of day blinded me with its rude and gruesome and sober glare. Looking around the room, clearly having no recollection of how I got there, never mind up the never-ending flight of stairs; the realization slowly, yet, slyly drifted to my still befuddled brain. I was suppose to depart for the bloody Shire, guarding the caravan, this morning. Grappling clumsily with my boots, picking up my sword and swinging it quickly around my waist, mumbling fitting curses and self-depreciating profanities, I started to wonder what happened. There wasn't much to remember; it was all just a sad blur, and try as I might, only recollecting faint ghost of what could have been, only frustrated me. So I just left it... for now.
I ran out of the Pony then, made a turn by that damn Lizz, made sure everything was fine with Eva, and eventually only arrived in time for the old caravan master not to slit his throat.
And now... well now I'm blissfully lounging again on my way through the rolling hills of the little folk.
