"I won't show my face for anymore of this wretched tournament," I declare the next morning as I rub my shoulder with a grimace. A fitful night's rest has not done my body an favors and I feel tweaks and pains in areas near and far from the arm and shoulder than were nearly wrenched out of their socket.
In spite of my pain, I can still see Emma ever so slightly deflate out of the corner of my eye. Outside of gold, the years have shown that she has one other interest: fighting. The mode doesn't matter, be it wrestling in the mud, sword fighting, jousting, or a drunken bar brawl. All enrapture her just the same.
I clear my throat, waving away Emma's attempts to put my indoor slippers on. "But you, you haven't seen any of the festivities yet, have you? You should go in my stead. I mean, as an attendee, of course. Enjoy the day for yourself. Eat, make merry, watch the final winner get crowned. And monitor from afar of course."
