The Rogue: Book 1 Of The Rogue And The Outlaw Series

Chapter 3: Fox

Fox's p.o.v

His eyes fluttered open, and a wave of dizziness settled in his brain. Light flooded into the room, coating everything in a sparkling white paint, and making him wince in pain and squeeze his eyes shut again. Groaning, he turned over and felt the hard wooden floor press into his body. His muscles ached tremendously, and his head felt significantly heavier than usual, as if someone was pressing his skull into the ground. The stale smell of the inn filled his nose and made him feel queasy.

He slowly opened his eyes again, realising he was sprawled on the floor next to a creaky, old bed. The scratchy white covers draped across him, as if he had pulled them off with him at some point during the night.

Dust lined the greying floorboards like a carpet. An aging picture frame hung on the peeling, cream wallpaper.

His eyes roamed across the stone ceiling; cracks and holes decorated the entire space, and the damp wooden beams gave off a harsh aroma of mould. Cobwebs blew around in the corners of the room, moving gracefully as a draft blew from the open window.

He would have much rather stayed in a barn. However, the last time he had done that, the farmer had found him in the morning tucked up in the hay, and had promptly threatened to remove his head from his body.

The inn was much more welcoming, even if it had cost him the last of his hard earned wages. He was relatively new to the city, and did not have nearly enough gold to afford even a small place of his own.

After selling a sword to a friend of his on the market, he had made some good money. Most of which he had gambled away the very same day. The rest he had spent on alcohol. He turned his head to the right and saw a few empty glass bottles scattered carelessly along the floor. The labels on them showed they were some form of strong spirit.

well, that explained the headache. He thought. And the desperate need for water.

He was suddenly made aware of his surroundings when he started to hear a tapping at the window. A gentle, but unrelenting knock started to occupy his thoughts as it slowly increased in volume. He was curious, confused and slightly dazed. But decided to investigate anyway.

He sluggishly staggered onto his feet, using most of his strength to push himself off the ground. When he got up, pain danced behind his eyes forcing them shut. He rested one hand on a chair in front of him to stop him from toppling over, the other hand rested over his eyes until the moment of utter disorientation had passed.

The knocking became angrier.

'Okay. Okay, I'm coming' He shot out gruffly, and staggered towards the window. When he reached the glass he pulled upwards and opened it, the old, damp wood groaned in pain. There on the windowsill was a large black crow, it's head cocked sideways and its eyes lit with anger. He stared at it for a second, his arms resting either side of the bird on the sill, before he became distracted by the scene outside in the market square.

The cool wind hit his face, sending his dark hair into his eyes. He stared at the thousands of strangers. They swarmed around the dusty streets buying fruit and vegetables. He saw the square not so far away and scanned the faces of the merchants and customers, laughing and talking. Families huddled together, sharing fresh food. Girls danced around in newly bought dresses, swishing the expensive fabric. And even some street performers were outside, juggling and blowing flames which made the little ones squeal in joy.

He saw the fountain, and the blood red flags dancing on wooden poles, showing off the wonderful, poverty stricken city of Aramoor.

In the distance he saw the merchant to whom he had sold the sword. And saw a crowd gathered around the stall. People were cheering and clapping their hands as they formed a large circle. There must have been over 30 or 40 people surrounding something. He wondered what it was, leaning forwards and squinting his eyes to make out they cause of the excitement. He just about made out a glint from a sword before a peck on his forearm took him back to reality.