[ the bloody wood had to bloody well get cut. but the sun is high and the breeze is absent and one industrious soldier sheds his linen shirt in the service of his task. the fabric crumples onto the grass and he leans down to reclaim his axe. he works with his front facing the river, but this has the unintended consequence of turning his whip-scarred back towards the path.
he has never been ashamed of the marks. how can you be ashamed of a punishment you didn't deserve? but he doesn't flaunt them, either. it's a delicate subject for most.
bending the seasons a bit for this one.
he has never been ashamed of the marks. how can you be ashamed of a punishment you didn't deserve? but he doesn't flaunt them, either. it's a delicate subject for most.
but today, the privacy simply isn't worth it. ]