Bytown e4: Cruel Chivalry

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The sky was an odd shade of lavender, strewn with fog and hazy shafts of sunlight as the new day broke. A breeze sent the reeds swaying side to side, side to side, as the water lapped at the shoreline. Frogs and birds and insects filled the air with a cacophony of queries--the theme to a quiet summer’s day.

The raft moved slowly; a weak paddler fighting against a weaker current. It was barely a raft, too: a bundle of wood held together with soggy rope, wobbling with each shift of the feet, daring the waves to take it under. The paddler looked just as ragged, with his filthy shoeless feet, his tattered clothes and wild beard. He navigated the shallows with a stick a little thicker than his own arms--though that wasn’t saying much--and kept a wary eye on his surroundings.

“Y’here to kill me?” he called, in a feeble voice, to the shore. “I see ye there.”