------------- Lost Angel – Just a Little Crazy

Miriam rolled over and reached out. He was gone. She pushed up and looked around the small room. His stuff was gone. That figured. On the dressing table was a single wildflower, one of the large, spiky looking things from the open plains to the east. She wasn’t sure whether to treasure it or trash it. She smelled of it once, coughed and half choked, and decided on the latter. Drovers! Slugs, the bunch of them.

Hundreds of miles away, and many days later, Gilthander picked another wildflower. It would have to be something that would survive in a saddlebag for days on end, something even a drover could smell over the constant reek of horse dung, mud, pine trees, and camp fires. One never knew when a winsome lass might turn up at the next watering hole or cow town. Such was the life of the horsemen of the plains of Equideyea, wandering from here to there, hard days, cold nights, and only the horses there to care whether you lived or died. As a Zeigus, Gil had been driving horses since before most of the humans’ grandfathers were in swaddling clothes.

He’d always had a reputation, a solid hand, a hard worker, good with the horses, like he could almost talk to them on stormy nights, and a favorite of the ladies. The other trail hands never knew if it was those elven ears or the crazy things he’d pull every time they were in town. He always managed to end up with the pick of the litter though. Human, elf, or shapeshifter didn’t seem to matter much to him. And they all seemed to love him, right up until he snuck out of their room in the middle of the night and disappeared, leaving one of his pathetic wildflowers as a calling card.

Maybe all that caught up with him. Maybe he just decided to do something different. When Jason Kallivetes drew up blank in Xanthius and went bust, and all the other drovers spread out to hook up with another outfit, Gil just shook his head, downed another shot and set his mind on something else. He just didn’t know what it was until he came across a tattooed Hergovite warrior he’d met some years back. Halgir was the guy’s name. They had a few rounds and one thing led to another. Halgir was heading to meet up with a Tarkanian Weaponsmaster. No doubt the old coot would have things for them to do. Gil always did fancy honing his fighting skills, and story had it there was a master Acrobat in Xanthius. Never know. Maybe he could sign up for some special training himself. He’d just have to figure out how to make a few drakmas to pay for it. Halgir had told him to watch himself with the ladies in this town, something about them being a lot more dangerous than they looked. Sure, some might use a bit too much powder, too much eyeliner and a tad too much red lipstick,… but there’s nothing wrong with that. Is there?

------------- Credits

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