A Ticking Clock
He read in despair as the other lords made prognostics about who had the highest chance of emerging as the number one in the event. A few even set outrageous bets to spice things up.
Yet, he clicked his tongue and swiped the chat box away with a dismissive shrug.
'I don't care about your expectations. I'm not jumping into a death trap when I know where it is.'
As he snickered at them, the noise of Morwen's rushed footsteps grew closer, prompting him to gaze in her direction.
Freshwater spilled from the jug she carried while the delicious scent of salted fish rose from the steaming wooden plate she balanced in her right hand.
Attracted by the smell, he smiled, grateful for her care before devouring the meal and speaking reassuringly until they felt comfortable enough to leave.
His stomach warmed by Morwen's delicious cooking and his mood now stable, he sighed and returned to his unfinished task.