Kalf

He collected his pay for the week, wiping at the sweat on his furrowed brow, his skin reddened from that sun. The chestnut colt cantered around in the corral, Aldfryd pausing to watch him. He spoke to his boss, his voice deep and soft, "That one's nervous, but he's coming along. Needs a bit more time than the others."

*A blue, leather bound book sits upon the table before her.  A silver inkwell and quill to her right, a goblet of red wine to her left.  Tapping the quill to her lips in thought, she then dips the sharpened end in ink before writing...*

Another day, another storm.

How oft I think of committing words to this book, and how frequently I lack the enthusiasm, but the wine and events of late have made me more reflective.  Though before I continue, my bard, if you are reading this you shall cease now and return the book to where you found it!

Men!