The TwiceBorn

Resolute Captive

You didn't notice the steel jaws until they were impaled in your flesh, and by then it was already far too late to run." --Nenia Campbell

"Aubery, you sorry son of a bitch...what in the fuck am I..." Gre's voice was loud and rough.  He broke off as words failed him and simply stared at the rope Aubery held.  Because to look at what was at the end of the rope made him want to drag Aubery off his new horse and simply beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

A pony.  A fucking pony.

Aubery shrugged, a smirk playing around the edges of his mouth.

"All he had, Gre.  Didn't even have any decent 'stags. And he didn't want to sell me this...said it was his daughter's po..."

"His daughter's pony??   That wormy bastard no more has a daughter than I do, what the fuck Aubery, you really expect me to ride along on this thing?"

"Suit yourself, Gray.  You can either ride on with me or you can ride back to Behrin, either way, you're still getting on this thing and riding it." 

Aubery smirked and looked quickly away to study the distant treeline. 

Gre silently studied the little horse. He had to grudgingly admit, it wasn't a pony in the truest sense of the word. It could carry him.  The mane had been roached off and what remained of it stood up in bristly clumps which made its powerful little neck look even thicker than he'd originally thought.

The sturdy little beast regarded him with a cool stare, a look Gre knew belonged exclusively to frigid women and spoiled ponies.   To top it all off, it was a funny yellow color with four white socks.  It was also extremely fat.  Its hindquarters reminded Gre of two overstuffed cornshuck mattresses.

"It really was all he had.  Besides,"  Aubery proudly announced.  "I got boot."

Gre snorted.  Behrin's credo.  If you got boot in trade, you came out on top.  It didn't matter if the boot was a one-eyed dosed up crippled whore, it still meant you were the more wily trader.

Could this just fucking get any worse?

"I got it for you, Gre; you could at least be a little appreciative."  Aubery's voice had taken on a distinctive whine as he tossed down a waterskin.  Gre eyed the boy for a moment then uncorked the skin.  A sickly sweet smell bordering on rot wafted up his nose and he quickly stuffed the cork back in.

Why yes...yes it could get fucking worse.

"What's wrong with you Aubery?  You really think I'll drink this shit?"

Gre tossed the skin down in disgust. 

"The Liveryman told me it was the best ale he had.  He was going to sell it, private." Aubery stated dully. He slid off his new horse and gingerly picked the waterskin back up.  His face had taken on a spoiled pout.  Gre shook his head.

"It's not ale.  It's bitterswill."

"What's bitterswill?"

"Definitely not ale, that's what it is."  Gre spat a wad of warm, white spittle onto the ground.  Just the smell of the bitterswill had caused his mouth to juice up.

"The Sturgin forest pucks make it.  They barter with it.  Pawn it off on unsuspecting peasants."

Aubery, his curiosity piqued, uncorked the skin and took a cautious sniff. 

"Whew.  What's in it?"

Gre shrugged as he walked over and got his gear.  He resisted the urge to look at his downed grulla gelding.   The heavy persistent drone of flies made him feel vaguely sick.