Snippet #828430

As the small group traveled along the path, it was soon made aware to all of them they were no longer alone. Martin’s hand instinctively went to is blade, before slacking back into a relaxed position. Perhaps it had been Lillian’s talk of bandits that had made him overcautious, but now he could see it was only a blind old beggar, traveling through the forest; no threat to any in his party. Still, it struck him odd, not to mention dangerous, that a blind old beggar would travel alone through the forest, especially if there truly were bandits in these woods. They would likely find nothing to steal from such a pitiful creature, but Martin had seen men kill for less reason than being poor. Sadly, such cruelty was in no short supply.

“Hail Sir! Might you spare a word with a fellow traveler?” Martin asked, attempting a conversational tone as he approached the beggar with his water skin, filled that very morning from a nearby stream. The old man’s muttering had worried Martin a bit. Perhaps it was an assumption from living the last five years in a desert, but he’d seen strong men go mad from heat and thirst.

“Do you hail from Nottingham good man?” Martin asked, stooping a little, and carefully bringing the water skin to the beggar’s mouth, with subtle encouragement to drink. Martin did not care to see a man die if he had the power to prevent it.