I couldn't sleep.

Each time I tried to get some shuteye, ol' Ebenezar would be shooting out someone's brains.

I turned around in bed as if the images would go away. Against the shadows in my room, the very same bed that assassin rested I-

Enough of this.

I took my boots and went outside. The crisp air soothed my nerves.

Let's do something useful instead of whining. I turned on the porch lights and grabbed my toolbox. I prepared a cup of coffee and started replacing the busted plates on my brigandine.

He lied to me. As I pried off a bitten steel plate, the monotonous task settled my mind.

Cut new plate, water-drill spell on the corners, stitch.

All this time, I was in arm's reach of my family, and he didn't say a word.

The neck and back plates were the worst, with a tooth stuck.

Went inside to get the riveter and saw the picture on the wall. Gramps & I.

I looked to my hand, holding the misshapen steel plate.

To the picture, the old man with a hand on my shoulder.

To the bitten steel plate that took the brunt of an attack that would have ripped my arteries.

If he didn't insist on the value of armor, I would be dead.

I looked back at his diary.

If he didn't insist on veils, Waldo and yours truly would be ...dead fools.

And a cynical part of me appreciated the gallows humor.

I stared at the picture.

So "beings older and wiser" agreed to your methods?

I patted the stone inside my shirt. I can see you as a caretaker. I took again the dairy. The marks of conflict on its cover. Stain marks, repairs along the spine, burnt tips.

Maybe, maybe you were alright and I needed to extract my head out of my ass.

I spent a couple of hours fixing my gear, dividing my quiver in two sections. Sticky sticks one side, Large on another. What to do with you? The Thunderous Noise were a category of its own. Tied the ziploc bag to the blowgun, in the same fashion the Tactical Gnome did his shells.

I was testing my hand at freeform rune writing when hooves stepped upon the porch. I raised my eyes from my tools.

Nessie stood against the starry sky, her mottled fur matching the pattern.

I returned to my engraving. Thunder-

Her flesh eating mouth grasped my wrist.

I patted her muzzle and took my tools again.

She grasped the stick and stuck it inside my quiver. HELL NO!

When I moved my hand to fetch it, she took a hold of it and arched her neck.

She rested my hand on her back and gave me the puppiest of eyes I have ever seen. She could give Paula a run for her money.

"Okay girl, let me grab a coat." I went inside and returned with a saddle. And reins.

Which were promptly chewed out and spat with utter contempt. Nessie canted her head and gave me a deadpan stare. A horse is raising an eyebrow to me. I don't have a woman and the only girl in my life has me whipped.