Here we go again with Six Sentence Sunday, a weekly event where up to 200 authors share six sentences of their work, published, unpublished, self-published and experimental works in progress.
I don’t actually have many coherent bits of A Fierce Reaping left to share unless I write some more. As you may have guessed from last weeks post, the wood gathering expedition didn’t end well and to work off his troop’s energy, Cynon decreed that they should take another little trip.
They rode on through claggy moorland but made good time. Once the deep snow had gone and the ground underfoot was wet the ponies did better than the horses. Their small hooves bit deeper into the mud so they kept their feet better and their strength and stubborn minds kept them going when the higher bred beasts faltered.
Cynfal chatted to Aeddan, pleased to see him gradually recovering his good humour once the snow had gone and he could lead the other lads in planning increasingly ridiculous scenarios where they would take over the troop and make Cynon clean all their boots. Cynfal kept cavy while they grumbled, not eager for Cynon to hear what amounted to mutiny, but knowing that while men grumbled they were working off steam. Far more dangerous was the kind of sullen resentment he had seen a time or two in Tudfwlch’s troop.