Ash to Iron

Chapter VIII

Yoric woke up from his night's sleep, still full of his dinner the night before. His body ached, and his legs even felt as if they would collapse if he tried to stand.

While his condition was far less than favorable, Yoric still felt that growing strength, unsure as to where it was coming from. He grasped the ring around his neck, its cold shimmer bringing warmth to his spirit. He could feel his father's strength from that ring, his pride. I'll avenge you.

I'll get the justice you deserve.

"Rise and shine. "The prince said, stretching his back to release several cracks, a sure sign that he had not slept well. his mood seemed sour, but overall calm. "Collect your things, we leave as soon as we can."

Yoric remained silent, still groggy. His sore legs wobbled as they dropped off the side of the cot, and he stumbled sanding up.

"Thank you, sire." Yoric was able to get out, still unable to keep the conversation rolling steadily.

"We won't stop for more supplies." The prince went on, throwing a bag stuffed with food at Yoric. "This'll be yours to carry. Along with this," he threw another bag with the chainmail stuffed inside.

Yoric nodded, keeping true to his word, and putting up with the foul Prince, who would not be carrying anything but his sword. He wore a tunic with complex designs and markings. Yoric remained in his wool clothing, stained with dried blood and dirt. He looked more like a poor peasant than he had ever before, and people began to treat him as one.

The two gathered their things and left for the stablemaster, who spat at the ground near Yoric. "Don't bother if you lack gold."

Yoric gave a smirked and pulled out the gold his father had given him what seemed like ages ago. The stablemaster raised his eyebrows in surprise, accepting the coin to provide two mares. They were both brown, their manes matted, and shoes scuffed.

The one mare that the prince mounted seemed agitated and looked as if it were going to buck him off.

"Easy girl, easy." The prince said warmly, causing for the horse to relax. She gave a small neigh and stomped her hoof in acceptance. Yoric's was calm as can be, unmoving and unaltered as the young man mounted.

"She likes ya," chuckled the stablemaster.

The Stables had smelt of ale and manure, while several bales of hay were scattered for the horses' feed. Yoric didn't mind the smell, but the prince seemed more infuriated by it as the seconds ticked by.

"Let's go." He said bluntly, glaring at Yoric. Yoric was still confused as to why he received the prince's wrath. But nonetheless, he followed, the weight of the bags seeming to take a toll on the horse, neighing in disapproval.

"Sire, would it be more beneficial if you carried a bag as well? We might be able to move faster." Yoric offered.

"No. Don't speak unless spoken to." The prince spat. He sighed, knowing that his temper would not help the journey go any faster. "Yes, you have a point, toss over the chainmail."