This is probably going to turn out stupid. Meh. In honour of NaNoWriMo, I’m going to try it anyway.
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Boorand Plainswind was a long way from his youth. “Wrinkled”, as a troll would put it; perhaps “over the hill”, as a rather polite forsaken told him once. What was her name again? Such a nice girl. Liked flowers. Smelled nice, which is an unusual quality for a corpse. No matter.
Whatever euphemism one wished to use, the facts remained the same. His backed re-enacted the Third War every time he sat up; his left knee gave him trouble whenever it was raining, snowing, windy, sunny, or night time; his neck made an odd clicking sound whenever he looked to the left; speaking of left, he had been unable to see the colour green out of his left eye for nearly three decades now.
Oh yes, and his memory was going. It is very hard to remember all the details and… hmm… ahh yes! Facts. Difficult to remember facts. (more…)
