The Stench of Cities
The Enclave > Known Roads

Hah! A fine speech, fine as the coat on yonder mule, but by the Beard, Staff and Sack, no roof and mattress could recompense for the stench of cityfolk, all pressed together tight as firewood. I've not set foot in Port these past ten summers, mark me, and I'll wager coin against grass stems I'll not be treading Port cobbles next summer, for good measure! Every draggled rat, sickened eel and ale-sodden noble casts their spew from land to sea, and a wonder the waters aren't black and steaming with it under the hot sun. The only good to come from winters like the last is the burying of filth under clean snow - and a pity it cannot last!

Were I not gifted by the Traveler with these good legs and eyes, were I forced by cruel circumstance to call one place my home, why, I would be a woodcutter in the smallest cottage of the Corner of Creation - Lost to the Farthest Greenwood soon enough, like as not, and myself no Krineth to be coming home from such a dark fate.

[ Posted by Reason on December 24, 2005 ]