The Cord dropped the loosely tied bundle into the lads arms. The weight of the leather scabbards pitched Elwood forward. The weathered cobble buildings of the knights Quarter ringed with activity. Squires and apprentices ran orders while smiths, loommasters, and goodsmen arranged orders for returned servicefolk. A large plume of steam belched from the stack a forge nearby.

The Cord continued on down the avenue, while the prodigy huffed indignantly catching up.

“This is humiliation! Am i not chosen by the Woman of the Yard? i’m running errands like some squire?”

The words came out of the young man and the Cord rounded on him.

“Starve thy ego Elwood Fost. You are not of the Yard yet. And the Woman is here to defend you no longer.” On the Cord stalked and a chill climbed up young Elwood’s back.

Fost isn’t here to cover for you.

Starve thy ego? What shit.