Cold Feet

“Perceval? Are you sure we’re ready?” Kira took a break from riding Marduke as she hunted for her evening’s meal. He didn’t want to know what she ate.

“Lad, the time is right for us to move to the fortress and battle the King.”

“We don’t even know if he’s there!” protested Kira. He had been reflecting on his short week of training and felt very inadequate.

“Oh, son, he’ll be there! Trust me! And you’re ready, Kira, because Mardy is ready. She will take care of both of you!”

Sometimes Perceval’s confidence was contagious and inspired everyone. And sometimes it was just annoying. It was annoying now. Kira sighed and walked to the edge of the encampment. The horses grazed hungrily, not even bothering to look up at him.

He scanned the sky for Mardy, then doubly frustrated, he wandered through the tent city kicking rocks and sticks.

“Psst! Kira!” A loud whisper came from somewhere to his left. A slender hand beckoned from a tent flap. Curious, Kira walked into the lamp lit shelter.

She giggled.

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