A bored afternoon

[Skoll]

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There we go. Set in the Dampwoods, a short ways off of Shadowed Sun territory. Skoll sat in the dense pines of the Dampwoods, his feet planted in the dirt while he seated himself on the base of a hill. His bandaged right arm rested in his lap while his left elbow was propped against his knee, his palm facing up to support his chin. The warrior didn't know what to do with himself. He couldn't exactly train in his current condition, couldn't exercise or practice. He was useless for his primary function, and he didn't like the feel of that. Of course, there was solace to be had in the knowledge that he had been rendered useless on the job, fighting a hostile canine on the border of the territory he was protecting. It had been a very close fight, she had been a professional like he was, fighting was her life just like it was his, and the battle had reflected as much. He didn't think she was a better fighter, but her weapons were superior to his, as was her armor, which contributed to how badly he'd been hurt. If Lubomir hadn't been there, SteelRose would have killed him, he had no doubt. He might have killed her back, though. That was definitely the best way to go: dying doing one's duty successfully. Ultimate justice: a warrior avenging himself against the enemy who slew him, or at the very least doing one last good deed by ridding the world of the villain before death. It resounded well in Skoll's mind, very story-book, going out like that. He sighed heavily. His right arm had two bandages around it: one on his upper arm and one on his forearm; his left arm had a bandage up close to the shoulder, while the stitching on his face was still fresh and unpleasant. For now, it seemed like he was free from responsibility, but what was he to do with his time? All he usually did was practice whittling, think about stories to make sure he had the telling down to a perfect art, and train to make sure he was in top shape if he was ever called on to perform his primary function as a defender of his pack. With his right arm useless, all that was left was the stories, but one could only do that for so long before boredom set in. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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