GOT2: Terryon's Gun

XII

Kegger the burned giant held his greasy head in his hands as he sat by the fire with his new friends: the one-eyed monk, other man, and the final man. It was no longer clear what he was doing or who these dudes were or what they wanted. But at least they had some hearty grub on the pot! A stew of grass and soiled potatoes awaited, and even some wurrit he had found in a grave.

The group shared the hot spoils and sat in the grass, miles away from the main road and in pretty nice country really, but dangerous because anyone could come by and start shit, but this is Westermost and he who dares lives.

The plain monk told his important story about the Flaming Angel and his confusing importance and the other dirty men nodded, but Clegger was too tough for stories and spat out his thick soup into the fire, which sparked and sputtered while the milksops gasped.

'Tell me your story some other time!' he exclaimed, rising, 'like maybe never, dumbshit.' The monk was too confident to be hurt. 'Clegg, you are a good and strong rascal, but you cannot doubt the import of my words.'

Glenn had heard enough and scowled his bad face. 'I have known only one truth, and it is this', he intoned. 'My good daughter Gary is in trouble, and I got smashed up falling down a hill but now I am okay, so I need to find her. Your god can take 10 shits for all I care.'

And with that he was away, powering through the forest on his strong big legs, empowered by thick stew and true feeling.