ALass4Larry
Acrobat
The following is a work of fiction. No disrespect intended. Comments welcome. Enjoy!
Chapter 3
"God's eyes lad, 'tis it really you?", Tom gasped. "'Tis, and a lad no more am I", came his curt reply. Tom gave the once over to the man standing before him. He was filthy and smelled like the stables in his smithy. Taller than he remembered, not lanky like he'd been when Tom shouted at his back to meet the others on the banks of the River Liffey. The English had caught so many unawares that night...
No, this stranger standing here was no lad. Finely sculpted muscles covered a once thin frame. His hair, which had grown to his shoulders had darkened, his blue eyes were two ice chips in his head, and a scowl seemed permanantly etched onto his face.
"I'll give you food to break your fast if you go bathe while I fix it up", said Tom. Lawerence dug a piece of soap out of the saddlebag that hung from the side of the horse then handed Tom the reins.
He made his way to the stream and stripped off his clothes, glad it was still dark. He eased his body down into the cold water and lathered the soap over his skin. If you looked close enough, you could see the white lines that criss crossed his broad torso. Scars from English swords. There were plenty of English soldiers who wore similar marks thanks to Lawrence and his skills with a sword. He dunked his head, hoping to clear his mind. Unconciously, he rubbed his left arm and felt the puckered skin at the front of his shoulder, the place where a clan healer had marked him with a drawing of a sunburst, the sign of his village.
News of his family had failed to reach him in the past years. Should he go to the cottage and suprize them? His ma would make him a hot breakfast and fuss over his long hair, once she stopped crying. He knew his da's eyes would mist over but no tears would fall. Instead, his da would clap him on the back and tell Lawerence he was proud and they'd go to the brewer's hut for a mug of poteen. And he'd stop by the miller's place and ask after Brigid.
Refreshed, he splashed the remainder of the suds from his body, dressed, and returned to the blacksmiths shop.
Chapter 3
"God's eyes lad, 'tis it really you?", Tom gasped. "'Tis, and a lad no more am I", came his curt reply. Tom gave the once over to the man standing before him. He was filthy and smelled like the stables in his smithy. Taller than he remembered, not lanky like he'd been when Tom shouted at his back to meet the others on the banks of the River Liffey. The English had caught so many unawares that night...
No, this stranger standing here was no lad. Finely sculpted muscles covered a once thin frame. His hair, which had grown to his shoulders had darkened, his blue eyes were two ice chips in his head, and a scowl seemed permanantly etched onto his face.
"I'll give you food to break your fast if you go bathe while I fix it up", said Tom. Lawerence dug a piece of soap out of the saddlebag that hung from the side of the horse then handed Tom the reins.
He made his way to the stream and stripped off his clothes, glad it was still dark. He eased his body down into the cold water and lathered the soap over his skin. If you looked close enough, you could see the white lines that criss crossed his broad torso. Scars from English swords. There were plenty of English soldiers who wore similar marks thanks to Lawrence and his skills with a sword. He dunked his head, hoping to clear his mind. Unconciously, he rubbed his left arm and felt the puckered skin at the front of his shoulder, the place where a clan healer had marked him with a drawing of a sunburst, the sign of his village.
News of his family had failed to reach him in the past years. Should he go to the cottage and suprize them? His ma would make him a hot breakfast and fuss over his long hair, once she stopped crying. He knew his da's eyes would mist over but no tears would fall. Instead, his da would clap him on the back and tell Lawerence he was proud and they'd go to the brewer's hut for a mug of poteen. And he'd stop by the miller's place and ask after Brigid.
Refreshed, he splashed the remainder of the suds from his body, dressed, and returned to the blacksmiths shop.
I really like this. It's coming along nicely..
