Fighting Fit

Fighting Fit

The knight rubbed their eyes tiredly. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Their squire hovered uncertainly. ‘You’re in no state these days –‘

‘I’m just fat, Lofren. I’m still plenty able to stick the pointy end of a sword in things.’

‘You’re not as fit — wah!’

The knight held her up by the collar of her armour, unconcerned by the weight, then set her gently back down.

‘Right, sir. Sorry, sir.’

‘Let’s get on with it,’ they said. And they did. And got a kiss from the prince in thanks.

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