Prompt: one day here and the next day gone (04)
A cold winter day, George came upon a group of thieves huddled together. They could easily have been simply conserving warmth- it was, after all, the coldest day of the year yet and George himself, who was wearing what must have been his entire wardrobe, was freezing. But suspecting something more and very curious, he came closer, and heard wisps of a conversation.
"You hear what happened?"
"I heard the Rogue killed 'im himself."
"Why?"
"Dunno…made the king angry?"
"I heard he slipp'd off a bridge and drowned. Couldn't swim a foot, that 'un."
"But it's all ice now!"
"Exactly. He was trapped under." A few chuckles rose at this declaration, but were quickly silenced by the entrance of a large man.
"He slipp'd, but 'twasn't off a bridge." The deepness of the man's voice matched his size. "Ice was on the ground. Didn't see it. Fell 'nd lost a fight." The crowd was silenced.
"But he was the best," a voice ventured.
The man shrugged. "He was yesterday. Not anymore."
As the crowd dissipated, searching for victims too bundled up to notice the loss of their purse, George processed what he had heard. Death was rarely mentioned amongst the thieves, from what he had heard. This man's death must have been remarkable, for there to have been such a fuss.
George wanted to-was going to, he reminded himself- be remarkable and talked about, but in a very different way.