( Miles )
Miles hefted his musket to his shoulder as he stepped out of the town hall. It was the third village center he’d visited since he had awakened by the wood. Like the leader of the other two, this one had no knowledge of any troops in the area to which Miles could have been attached. After making sure that his name and situation was recorded with the authorities (the last thing Miles wanted was to be charged as a cowardly deserter), he crossed the village square and stopped for a meal at the inn.
The innkeeper nodded to him as he walked in. The crisp uniform Miles wore implied there was money in the soldier’s pocket, and that made him a welcome customer. As Miles took a seat, the innkeeper’s daughter descended upon him, flirting overtly in the hopes of earning either a beau or a tip. Miles blushed slightly at as she leaned in close to wipe the table and fuss over him. He softly muttered an order for ale and stew and hoped she would go away. He wasn’t interested in female attention. Somewhere he knew he had a girl, and he was going to find her again.
Miles finished his meal with vague thoughts of love, honor, and strangely, bits of ribbon and paper skirting his consciousness. As he scraped the last bit of turnip from his bowl, he forced his mind to turn to more practical things. He had enough money to pay for his meal, but his purse was quickly emptying. It was time to find a means of support. He stood, leaving coin on the table to draw the barmaid, then evading her as she swooped upon it by stepping up to speak with the innkeeper. Perhaps he could hunt for game to supply his kitchens, or guard his strongbox from thieves in exchange for room and board. Miles might as well stay in this village for a while. Perhaps the answers he was chasing would come to him.
Miles hefted his musket to his shoulder as he stepped out of the town hall. It was the third village center he’d visited since he had awakened by the wood. Like the leader of the other two, this one had no knowledge of any troops in the area to which Miles could have been attached. After making sure that his name and situation was recorded with the authorities (the last thing Miles wanted was to be charged as a cowardly deserter), he crossed the village square and stopped for a meal at the inn.
The innkeeper nodded to him as he walked in. The crisp uniform Miles wore implied there was money in the soldier’s pocket, and that made him a welcome customer. As Miles took a seat, the innkeeper’s daughter descended upon him, flirting overtly in the hopes of earning either a beau or a tip. Miles blushed slightly at as she leaned in close to wipe the table and fuss over him. He softly muttered an order for ale and stew and hoped she would go away. He wasn’t interested in female attention. Somewhere he knew he had a girl, and he was going to find her again.
Miles finished his meal with vague thoughts of love, honor, and strangely, bits of ribbon and paper skirting his consciousness. As he scraped the last bit of turnip from his bowl, he forced his mind to turn to more practical things. He had enough money to pay for his meal, but his purse was quickly emptying. It was time to find a means of support. He stood, leaving coin on the table to draw the barmaid, then evading her as she swooped upon it by stepping up to speak with the innkeeper. Perhaps he could hunt for game to supply his kitchens, or guard his strongbox from thieves in exchange for room and board. Miles might as well stay in this village for a while. Perhaps the answers he was chasing would come to him.