For A Taste Of Home

For days, an oppressive gloom had settled over Lothian March. The rains often came in the morning, filling the air with a sodden mist that seeped into everything, clinging until well past midday and casting a pall over the entire day. Tempers grew short across the march, and in Lothian City, the ale-houses quickly became overcrowded with people looking for a place to warm their bellies and escape the gloom. 

Along one wall, a dark-haired youth moved with surprising grace as he dodged the press of wagon drivers, off-duty soldiers, and merchants that filled one of the most popular ale houses in the shadow of Lothian Manor. 

His clothing was neat and well maintained with a dark maroon tunic that had been unlaced enough to reveal a hint of his pale, muscular chest and black breeches so tight that they left some patrons who glimpsed the youth wondering if he'd come to advertise 'services' that the Church was known to frown apon.