Member-only story
No man shall prosper
This is third part of a three part story. If you have not already read the rest, first part can be found here: and second over here. Otherwise, read on!
Mai floron
A Cassonne
Ni malvat, armat, galiador
Ni mensongier, guerrayador
Ni encara gentilhom
Time. Time. Time.
When oh when, Mercè wondered, had it become such an enemy? Was it her fault for bemoaning its slow steady pace in the days when she was little: back when her parents still lived and laughed and loved one another with hearts full of cheer across the supper table?
Her fault for wishing Time away in her haste to reach a tomorrow when there would be something better, brighter, more interesting to tantalise her tastes? How she was paying now for such wastefulness!
After the first messenger, there followed a trickle of survivors. Some brought news and intelligence as to the enemy’s disposition. For all the good it did. Their story added little to what she knew already: Bernardon was on the road with a force that far outnumbered any army Cassonne could put into the field. With the meagre army she might yet assemble behind the city walls, they might hold out for a while. But at what cost?
