… Other Wars Drag On
Runtly Brightneon had suffered setbacks. He knew it. His galleys had been sunk, his besiegers of Binge Landing repulsed, and worst of all, his clothes had become muddy and torn in the siege works. Although the fine folk of Worm’s End had balked at his continued campaign, their spirits had not broken entirely. At least, Brie the Tart, gallant knightess that she was, was at his beck and call busily and dutifully washing his satin breeches by hand, the good maiden.
In the Twinge, Weirdo Frayd, Lord of the Cursing, was perplexed and starving. Should he eat one of the last messenger sparrows in the rookery, or should he attached a message urging his son, “Hexes” Walker Frayd to take command of his field army? With Chevron probably having his wounds nursed by a comely wench, he needed to have this siege broken. Even having his thirty-five wives here in the castle had gotten stale. He had to be out and about his realm searching for Miss Twinge Thirty-six. Despite licking his lips, the frail Lord Frayd spared the sparrow and he released it to the sultry, summer night air. He’d carry on this dogged fight with the Greyboys even if all his useless sons were wounded or slain.