Gwayne lumbered himself down off his horse, groaning at the pain in his ribs. He’d taken quite the beating in the last battle, though he supposed it was better then being dead.

He was sick of hard ground and little sleep, thankful to be back in the clutches of civilization and to have a break from this incessant war.

“Gods… this armor…” He grumbled to himself as he grimaced. He wanted a bath and fresh clothes. Perhaps coupled with a full cup of wine.