The Dancing Flame

Francis looked at the Hode and with the light of the dancing flame and could see many lines appear across his countenance … he was of course many many thousands of years aged, and upon occasion, if you had the eyes to see, these ages would show just briefly, revealing his honest expression.

And then his face brightened once more returning to a man of barely forty, as he drew a small pouch from his cloak. The gold glittered a little through the cloth of it. He handed the clinking sack over to Francis with a nod.

“A gift from the rich,” he said, well pleased with himself in handing it over - “a gift to the needy from the robber Hode.”

“They’ll be missing you in Britain.” Francis jibed, taking the pouch with a returning nod of appreciation.

The Hode rose to his feet, readying to leave.

“And what say of the frog?” asked Francis, still perplexed.

“Oh, he just does not like you. I should be careful of that one.”


-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances