The Years Have Not Been Well to Thee

[PolkaBear]

Ibrigil Mesto

Ibrigil pulled off the woven cap he was wearing--one of several he owned, although this one was woolen--and looked at it critically. "If it's all the same to you," he added as he picked at a stain, "I'd just as soon re-enter civilization feeling civilized. There'll probably come a day when I'm more used to the soil and dust of travel like this; but right now I still have a librarian's sensitivity to grime. My father would disown me if I tried to handle his scrolls in this condition."

He dropped the hat into his lap with a sigh, and looked at the others with his black eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway. I guess this is what Nack meant by 'campaign conditions;' so I might as well get used to it. I'll just brush them out, too."

"I could make a new board, if I have to. I made a couple like that when I was a kid. 1, 2, 3, 5, 8," he made invisible lines with his hands; "The Great, the Lesser, and the Corner. It's easy enough; but the one I lost was much more portable than anything I'd scratch on a plank. I'd rather not use my parchment for it, though."