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"You look ill, Rige," Lottir understated.
"Really? Where does it show?" asked Lord Suitov of Applestone, who was sweating bucketfuls, trembling slightly, breathing so hard he was almost panting, and apparently undecided about whether or not to throw up.
Just about universally requested by my readers, when I asked what I should post more of, were fiction excerpts. That made me happy, so here you are.
In this one we get to see both more of Suitov as a young man, and more of the drawbacks of those atavistic Nordic genes of his.
It's not particularly hot here at present, but I've had the image of… well, what he does at the end… in my mind for a long time.
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