A short story I wrote at Arts week at the camp I go to… wrote this two summers ago

A weary man in his brown, travel-stained cloak led his cinnamon horse down the lane through the evening fog. He had dismounted as soon as he felt his horse begin to limp, half a day's journey back. Both he and the horse walked on, heads down, pushing themselves onward through the slight drizzle. He would only glance up when passing through the village gates. He met eyes with the watchman and then turned his head back down.

After questioning some locals about a good cheap place to stay, he made his way through the town. He arrived at the inn that also doubled as a pub. It looked a little shady but a roof is a roof. He resigned himself and walked in, after tying up his horse and removing his one large bag before entering the establishment. He went to the counter and asked for some assistance. After some haggling he got the owner to give him a cheap price to stay the night for him and his horse. He followed the stable boy to the stable, where his horse was being taken just to be sure that she would be alright. Then he went back inside to get a drink. He chose a seat relatively near the fireplace but not so close that he would need to remove his cloak.

While sitting and sipping his ale, he listened to the conversations floating around the room. He took a special interest in a small group of local men drinking, laughing, drinking, and telling stories. The story they had just started caught his attention.

"'Oy, I bet ye fellers 'aven't 'eard this one!" one man boasted, drunk to the bone. "'Ay well, a merchant from upriver just told me this t'day, bout the Wanted Solider. A man… no, no the captain of the guard, to the king no less, who is as tall as a 'ouse and has a sword as wide as….as… as Tom's wife." This aroused another round of laughing and drinking. Even the traveler let out a little laugh at this absurdity, "Ah well no less, 'e was upset wit the king an told him this to 'is face," the drunk man ran his hand over his face for effect. "Well 'un the king din't take this well. The king, 'e called up all o' his guards and told 'em to take out their leader. Wells, theys is all smaller than the captain so it couldn't be done. The captain, ‘e was taking out men left and right," the drunkard added hand motions with this as well, "well 'e took out all 'is men in a few quick whacks of 'is sword. Then 'e went to the king and stole the crown rit off the king's 'ead! And ran off wit it!" Several men gasped. "I hear say tat the king 'ad to git an all new set o' guards and is too 'fraid to chase afer the captain." The drunken man had on a smug smile when he sat down and listened to the excited chatter of his fellow drunken men. The traveler finished the last of his ale, stood, and headed to his room unnoticed.

As he walked, he mulled over the story he just heard. A man could not be as tall as a house, nor could his sword be as wide as any man's wife unless they were too poor to feed her at all. He entered into his room, pulled his sword out from under his cloak, and laid it on the bed next to his bag. He frowned, thinking of the Wanted Solider who killed off his own men. It most certainly didn't happen that way. Then, the man smirked.

"Thank the Lord for farmers and their tall tales. They'll never suspect me now with that story in their heads," the captain said aloud.