B
Boar Boresoil
"Bind him with fire steel chains in the heart of the mountain and leave him to rot. We'll see how long his precious faith last when even his god is dead." -Queen Erida Yovan
"I don't like it, Ox." The man said, his voice like gravel tossed under a mill stone. "Crop's not as good as last year."
The short round farmer turned to look at the old mule. His bald pate beaded with sweat and streaked with black soil rubbed in with dirty hands.
"Don't talk like that." The man continued despite the mule not saying anything, "We'll be fine. Just tighten the belt a bit for winter is all...Yes, I know how to eat light! Stubborn ass!"
The man shook his head and bent down again as he continued to pull fat round potatoes from the ground one by one and inspected his produce. Boar knew potatoes like a soldier knew swords. In fact, he didn't really claim to know much else. His slate grey eyes drifted over each dirt caked tuber one by one and dropped them into one of his two sacks. One for sale and one for seed tubers for next season. He had to finish today, and it was already getting on to mid morning. If he didn't hed be late for market for certain. He couldn't afford to be late again. He needed iron for new tools and sundries he just couldn't make on the farm. If he wasn't on time he'd have to settle for lower prices again. He really needed another pair of hands for harvest but he knew as well as anyone he was hard to put up with even on his good days.
"I'm not brooding!" He yelled at the mule, "You're brooding."
"I don't like it, Ox." The man said, his voice like gravel tossed under a mill stone. "Crop's not as good as last year."
The short round farmer turned to look at the old mule. His bald pate beaded with sweat and streaked with black soil rubbed in with dirty hands.
"Don't talk like that." The man continued despite the mule not saying anything, "We'll be fine. Just tighten the belt a bit for winter is all...Yes, I know how to eat light! Stubborn ass!"
The man shook his head and bent down again as he continued to pull fat round potatoes from the ground one by one and inspected his produce. Boar knew potatoes like a soldier knew swords. In fact, he didn't really claim to know much else. His slate grey eyes drifted over each dirt caked tuber one by one and dropped them into one of his two sacks. One for sale and one for seed tubers for next season. He had to finish today, and it was already getting on to mid morning. If he didn't hed be late for market for certain. He couldn't afford to be late again. He needed iron for new tools and sundries he just couldn't make on the farm. If he wasn't on time he'd have to settle for lower prices again. He really needed another pair of hands for harvest but he knew as well as anyone he was hard to put up with even on his good days.
"I'm not brooding!" He yelled at the mule, "You're brooding."