Venison sounds good right about now. Even with the sweetness of the water splashing over my lips, the memories of crackling spits and honey basted deer over bonfire flame filled his thoughts as his stomach grumbled at his measly hare burning over his small cooking fire. "Curse this," he thought to himself, as he tossed back the last of his wine and nibbled at the heel of a bread loaf. A thousand curses on the kingsroad, for it's well travelled nature, with knights and inns and wenches was antithetical to the work he had at hand. For you see, if he was to kill the king, he could not hazard to be recognized by a passing bard or whore. "Aye. This life would have to do for now," he thought as he munched on his measly portions, snow piling around his feet.
