Chapter 452: 352 - Bandits are Lunch

I was wondering why spring rains were sung about so much; the rain was cold, drops infiltrating through the tree canopy to strike my body with cold and wet.

The chainmail, loose against the lanky human frame, seemed to gather the errant drops, holding them away with one sway, only to slap them against me with the next. So it was that I was jogging just to stay warm, when my ankle snagged on a piece of rope.

I turned the trip into a forward flip, sliding in the mud on my back rather than my face. But when I tried to rise, a descending boot came down squarely on my chest. I exhaled, but was definitely pinned.

"Well, now." the man said. He had a beard that merged with his hair, one of the ones that came down well past the neckline of his shirt. Over that shirt was a vest of chain links, and over that a vest of brown cloth.

And there was a thin sword, whose point hovered above my exposed neck.