(no subject)
When you are a boy of eight years, there are days you cannot help but run everywhere you go, pricking at everything around you like a curious dog in a room full of meat. So too here; when the stable-master's back is turned, his charge slips away to have a look at whatever presents itself. There is a door he has never been allowed through, as it leads to the stallion barn. Just this once he would like a look at the great beasts up close, not from such distance as his elders think safe.
But this? This is not the stallion barn- it is not even the stable. . .
The small boy who stands just inside the door wears a belted linen tunic and sandals. His eyes are wide with surprise, and for once (much to the surprise of his tutor, were he here to see it), his voice is shocked to silence.
After a moment there is a small scraping noise, as of metal on stiff leather. He has never yet used the little bronze dagger (hardly bigger than a wooden toy) on anything living, but he does not wish to be taken off guard by anything in a place so strange as this.
But this? This is not the stallion barn- it is not even the stable. . .
The small boy who stands just inside the door wears a belted linen tunic and sandals. His eyes are wide with surprise, and for once (much to the surprise of his tutor, were he here to see it), his voice is shocked to silence.
After a moment there is a small scraping noise, as of metal on stiff leather. He has never yet used the little bronze dagger (hardly bigger than a wooden toy) on anything living, but he does not wish to be taken off guard by anything in a place so strange as this.