Disclaimer: I do not own Goblin Slayer.

Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant and an anonymous friend.

Chapter 2

"Tomorrow morning, you should head into town," the Farmer said. He'd been waiting for this, so he hoped it sounded natural. Next to him, his niece paused in washing the dishes to look at him curiously.

"Do we have a delivery tomorrow?" she asked. They didn't and she knew that, but she likely asked not sure what else could send her there.

"No, we don't. Take tomorrow as a day for yourself. Eat out, shop, see the sights, whatever. Take that money you've been building up in your purse," he said, waving his hand as if it was no big deal.

It shouldn't have been. At the Grange meetings, he'd heard plenty of yeomen and yeowomen complaining about children seizing any excuse to run off to town. The chance to break from routine, to eat stuff outside the norm, to hang around with friends or look for new ones.

But she was looking at him like he'd asked her to dig a new latrine in an hour.

"Oh, that's not necessary. I could just take the day off here," she smiled, mastering her expression.

"You're going to town. Be back before sunset."

"Yes," she responded to the tone.

X X X

Going to town was no big deal. She'd been there plenty of times. Anyway, that meant it was no big deal to come here and surely it was better to just go along with her uncle on this, Cowgirl thought, walking down the main street. She wore her usual green overalls over a faded red short-sleeved shirt. It wasn't like she had much else. Her clothes varied only by the season, like the sweaters for winter; last year, she'd taken the time to learn how to knit new ones, paying one of the neighbor ladies to show her how.

But now what, Cowgirl thought? She stepped onto the wooden sidewalk to lean against a pole, feeling more tired than she had any business this early. The sun hadn't even properly gone up yet. The road had been safe enough, she knew when traffic picked up and had joined the flow to be carried into the town with the wagons, courier carriages, and adventurers making the last leg of their homeward-bound journey.

She'd had breakfast, it was too soon to eat again. Tea? No, a glance at the fold-out chalkboard showed a variety that reminded her what an unrefined country girl she was.

Without a direction, it felt like the same current she'd let carry her here would sweep her away.

She wanted to go back. But she was certain her uncle would not have ordered her to do this unless he thought it was necessary.

Cowgirl did not think of herself as brave. Goblin Slayer was the brave one. And he wanted to wait until he was Silver Rank to get married.

It never crossed her mind he would not be able to reach that status. After all, he'd already climbed in little more than a year to Steel. She would never claim to be an expert on the ways of adventurers or their guild, but she knew the higher you climbed, the more you got noticed. And to Cowgirl, if you noticed her intended, you realized how reliable, brave, hardworking and resourceful he was.

So yes, if he said he could make it to Silver, she was certain it would be in his reach eventually. If no one had ever gotten to Silver only hunting goblins? That just meant, like a hero in the stories, he would do what no one thought was possible.

He'd wanted to be an adventurer back then, when they were kids. To slay dragons, to explore the lost cities and bring back treasures of legend. To walk in the company of heroes.

She had no such ambition to remember, much less fulfill. She'd never told anyone, but she supposed when she heard those stories, she'd seen herself as the princess. Not that she thought she deserved to be rich and pampered or anything, she thought, wandering as a face in the crowd. It wasn't about being royalty or even being pretty. Why had she wanted it? She couldn't just dismiss it as being a silly girl, she would not be so cruel to the child she'd been like that. There had to have been some reason that was sensible, even if it was to a child's sense.

Her feet had carried her to the Adventurers Guild, she realized.

Was it ingrained routine, with this being part of her route? Or in her anxiety, had she come to the place she associated with 'him'? She didn't dwell on that, because after all, she had to start this day out somewhere, and if she had no ideas and no plan, she might as well begin with what was in front of her.

Regardless of trade, guild buildings were usually impressive. After all, they were practically an embodiment of the trades in the community, and no one wanted to be seen as the poor cousin in that circle of class and economy. But the Adventurers Guild was different, even she knew. For one, it wasn't a guild like the others, run by the trade for the trade. It was a government agency, albeit one that served many kingdoms somehow. She wasn't sure if taxes paid the staffers, but she knew the adventurers didn't pay dues so much as they had to abide by the rules or face consequences, she wasn't sure of.

Wherever the money came from, there was a lot of it. The first floor was dominated by the reception room, where the massive polish counter was manned by a dozen or so Guild Girls. The smiling flowers of the guild who recruited and advised adventurers when they selected adventures off the big board that was restocked daily. They were elegant in their uniforms, each day smiling and clean as they recorded success and sent forth many to missions from which they would never return, without a loss of composure or a change in expression.

The other feature was the tavern on the first floor. Adventurers could, of course, eat and drink anywhere, but they got a discount as guild members. The tavern kitchen and pantry were the area she was most familiar with. A mustached short chef ruled over that domain. A charming fellow, but his rank carried him higher than his height to her, and she wasn't sure how to approach the dog-woman waitress who, given a chance, seemed to inspect her like an eager puppy.

Upstairs were quarters, inn-style rooms available only to guild members, again at a discount, and other rooms whose mysterious nature was unknown to Cowgirl.

And finally, the basement held the shop and armory. Where the guild, again at a discount or so she assumed, provided one-stop shopping for everything an adventurer could want or need. Oh, and there was a stable, though she had picked up few adventurers either could afford horses or bothered to own their own. So instead, it served as the cheap sleeping quarters for adventurers who couldn't afford an upstairs room.

It had never crossed her mind, any more than most adventurers themselves, that this guild establishment was set up to minimize how much the often-unruly adventurers interacted with "normal" people. An effort to build a divide that segregated those who chose to live by violence and daring would breed resentment. But a trail of breadcrumbs mixed with flattery could have people competing for the right to the very thing that they may once have fought against being imposed on them.

But such thoughts never came close to her mind, too busy being overwhelmed by the relative splendor of the guild hall, and by the bold adventurers of many classes lingering in the crowd, waiting for the board to be refreshed.

For Cowgirl, it was like dozens of tales were about to unfold. For all but the greenest of the adventurers, it was awaiting the start of the work day. Some gossiped about work and other matters. Others had or awaited news from home, voicing hopes and anxiety. There were boasters, of course, bragging over deeds done and yet to be done. Arguments between rivals and comrades alike. And finally, those who simply waited in silence.

It was too much for Cowgirl, she decided, or rather when the quests were posted, that would be too much, she decided. She had no business upstairs, those unknown rooms were out of the question, and she couldn't see intruding on the quarters as any less an offense than a trespasser entering the farm.

The tavern? No, she had no business there, and it was possibly illegal for her to eat or drink anything there as far as she knew. So, she went down the steps gingerly, into the shop and armory, treading carefully into unknown territory.

X X X

It is important to take a moment and make clear the shop was slightly out of sorts that day. Blacksmith, who was both the master craftsman of the establishment and the master shopkeeper, was absent. Hearty as he was, the pillar of the guild hall who to hear tell had been old and grumpy longer than anyone could remember, was sick.

Aside from the shock of such a short but stubborn mountain of a man being so casually laid low, there was the simple matter his current apprentice was utterly unfit to take on the post even for the day. So instead, a figure from the Beforetime had been summoned by the guild; Retired Smith was running the counter as he lacked the steady hand or the strength to perform the forging and all but the most basic of repair and maintenance.

He had been mighty once; you could still tell. The sagging sunken gut had once been pulled tight by the skills forged by decades of hard work, his hands once firm and steady as stone in immense temperatures and in tasks where the slightest mistakes of precision or timing could maim. But time claimed crafters as it did adventurers, and retirement had accelerated decline in many ways.

But his good eye was still sharp, and his back might have been bent but his posture still held pride, demanding you not forget he was watching over the aisles and racks. A challenge to any who would disrupt or rob this fine establishment.

And angrily, he was determined indeed to make the most of his brief recall. His retirement had not been unpleasant by any proper measurement. He had even had the good fortune to test and approve of his successor, yet like so many in retirement he craved the relevance of his former post, and these likely few days would likely be the last time in his life he could reclaim that relevance.

He would not squander it, and that invitation likely made him a tad nastier than a professional in his place should have been.

But let us hesitate for a question:

When did one start being an adventurer? Many a bard would say it was when one acquired some grand aspiration. They would say the seed was planted long ago to then bloom in the fullness of time, or tragedy burst the bloom from the ground. The Guild Girls would matter of factly state it was when the paperwork was filled out at their counters. Ideally, the adventurer would fill it out themselves, but illiterates they would do the job taking a thumbprint by way of signature. Then the Porcelain rank tag was pressed with the identifying information, proof of status, and corpse identifier.

The armorers would say you become an adventurer when you get your gear. They would say how they were the ones who had to look these young fools over and decide if they had the makings of a scout or a warrior. Decide if this cleric needed to be light on their feet or armor up. Grill them for what skills, if any, they actually had and consider what in the shop could keep them alive for another day. And of course, they were the ones to count the coin and weigh that against everything else to try and give this wannabe a chance to survive and grow. Unlike that fancy counter, there was no routine to this to them. Each first time was as unique as the applicants themselves, and you often remembered those you never saw again as those who went on to become regular customers.

So when a farm girl walked alone into his temporarily-reclaimed domain, he didn't hesitate to start sizing her up. The first good sign was that she looked a bit older than fifteen. Some said it was never too early to start, but that was crap. At a certain age, one year could make all the difference in the world for wisdom and physical prowess. And it meant she was not quite as foolish as so many others by not running off at the word go.

And he saw past that closed nervous body language to see good muscle. Important as this running off, stout leather gloves that had seen use told him as much as callouses might. They were hers; he could spot someone fiddling with gear they weren't use to a mile away. Hair was short too, barely touching the shoulders. He'd never know why so many girls, and boys too, thought long hair was sensible in a profession of violence. If it hung, it was a liability to be grabbed by enemy or beast, and if you bound it up, just a needless chore.

She was from a farm, not a lowly peasant though; her clothes, while worn, were clean enough to show proper care. She'd also been getting enough food for her time at her hard labor and enough sleep too. A prosperous farmer's daughter.

As for her walking on pins and needles, he had that figured out too, he nodded to himself.

Marriage, of course. She was a pretty thing, and farmers could be quite ambitious, especially the successful ones. Her old man had decided to practically sell the flower of his farm too, someone higher up the ladder to gain more money and status. Not too high up, something like a butcher or tailor. No doubt middle-aged, if not old, with an oversized nose and a gut, smiling lecherously at the thought of a pretty obedient young wife.

So after a lifetime of smiling obedience, she'd found the resolve to run, and even though there was no law these days to say she had to marry who her pa said to, she was acting like any moment she'd get called out and hauled off like some harrier who leapt boldly into a guard patrol camp.

Well, time for some tough love from an old fart who automatically rated her low end of the middle as far as recruits went.

Note, low end of the middle was how he rated her, not low end. To that old man, at least, that was a world of distance.

"So, got any gear of your own?" he asked, every word dripping with essence of grumpy shopkeeper. She jumped like animal folk at a loud noise. He was more impressed than amused by the display, not as impressed by her looking at him like he'd taken his head off like a Dullahan.

"Uh, no," she said.

"Then show me what you got fer funds," he ordered, slapping his palm on the well-worn counter. His slap wasn't what it had been, but more than enough to make her come when called.

Her purse was fatter than he expected, but the coins weren't high value. Might be enough to run away on, but not to build a new life on; unless you were willing to gamble on the adventuring trade.

"You looking for a party?" he asked.

"No sir!" she said, eyes glancing about.

He nodded. Parties were good ideas, but if you didn't have even one person to trust to start with, he realized, it could be daunting. Backstabbers weren't as common as people thought, but they did exist, particularly in the rookie ranks.

"So, I'd say a Fighter then. Best thing for soloing. Let's see what weapon fits those hands best…"

It was the mace with a medium shaft he settled on for her. She had swung it for him ten times and gotten a better stance and footing by the tenth. And not winded, so plenty of stamina as well as muscles. He'd considered the war hammer, but for a beginner the mace was the better choice.

From there, it had been to leather armor, some light plate for vital points and the forearms, chainmail, and proper leather gauntlets. After that, it was time for potions, cleric in a bottle.

"Three basic potions are the foundation of an adventurer's first aid. Healing potions. Don't think they magically stitch you up like a cleric, but they stop bleeding from all but the worst wounds, quickly replenish blood, numb a good bit of pain, and will speed the healing process while warding off infection. Stamina potion, the cheapest all around. Alleviates fatigue and sharpens the mind quick. But it's no substitute for real rest or sleep. Try running off this stuff and you'll crash hard and likely die for it. Antidote, exactly what it says. If you think that weapon or bite might be poisonous, take a swig. Better to waste some coin than die clutching onto the money. And we cap it off with an adventurer's toolkit. Never leave home without this, and if you keep the box, we'll restock it twice a year for half-price."

"Ohhhh," the girl said, head tilting like her vision was swirling a bit.

'Guess the gravity of the situation is a bit overwhelming,' Retired Smith thought.

"Hmm, got some leftover," he said, sliding two coins under his fingers, "You want to pocket them or get something else?"

"Well, the money…"

"Can't buy back life, exactly. Now, what I'm thinking here is a helmet."

Now here was a real test of what type she was. Helmets were sensible, but adventurers typically considered them hardly heroic. Some had somewhat sensible arguments over line of sight, but more wanted their faces known. Or thought they wouldn't look cool wearing a helmet. And that attitude had become so pervasive it was practically how you told the difference between an adventurer and a soldier.

"I guess helmets are important," she said, blushing.

"Darn right. Not only can it save yer life, but it can keep that face of yours intact for some guy wanting to kiss ya." That got a squeak out of her and a deeper flush.

"Hmm, let's see what we got. Huh, a bit too heavy, and the horns are just asking to get in the way. Ah, here we are, classic curved without adornments to redirect force down and away from the head, with a lifting visor. Hmm, that is a weak point, but the wide vision and lightness should make up for it."

"So just put it on?" she asked as he placed the helm in her hands, having already hung the mace off her new belt.

"Course not, you need a proper leather cap under, and a collar around yer neck. That's free with purchase of the full helm."

Soon enough, she was pushed out of the shop, armored boot to helm and ready for adventure.

"Old man, you still know what the young people want," the retired smith nodded to himself.

"Yes… you… listen… well…" the young witch that had been lurking about grinned, taking a rolling step next to him. He glared up at her, face obscured by her cleavage. As a rule, he didn't care for magic users, no weapons, no armor, bastards. She smiled, seeming to spot his discontent, took a drag on her pipe, and blew the smoke in his face.

"Buy a potion *cough* or get out!"

"But… you're… fun… to… watch," she smiled, eyes closed.

X X X

"Okay, what now? Do they have shifts, can I go back in a while and return all this?" Cowgirl asked, scaling the steps back toward the reception area.

She really did need to get out more, if she could get pushed into spending her entire purse on stuff she didn't want. Her uncle would think she needed a chaperone to go into town!

Reaching the top of the stairs, she felt a bit of fatigue hit her from having been dragged along that shopping by the old smith. She hadn't experienced anything like that since…

Well, never?

The day was well begun, she could tell by the windows and few adventurers were loitering. How long had she been down there? Maybe she should get an early lunch.

"Oh right," she thought, imagining that she could feel the empty purse tucked into the new belt pouch.

X X X

Inspector was feeling bored. As a receptionist of the guild like her next chair neighbor Guild Girl, her day was often defined by deluge and drought. Most of their business came in the morning, noon, and early evening. Morning when the adventurers came for the morning rush of newly-posted jobs. Most rookies came then too, and those desperate for work, so the time of day most likely to get trouble breaking out with people fighting over quests. Noon saw those who, for whatever reason, weren't setting out in the morning looked over the board before lunch. And those returned from quests and hungry for more, looking over the board for any quests that had survived the day's pickings. And finally, early evening saw few quests taken up, but many adventurers returning and wanting to get their rewards and reports done before hitting the tavern to either celebrate victory or nurse the sting of defeat.

Not that they lacked for work between the rushes. They were bureaucrats and technically worked for the government, so paperwork filled their lives and invaded their dreams.

Not that Inspector minded much. Like many of her peers, she was from the upper and upper-middle class to start with. A younger daughter, her fate had come in four flavors. Marriage to the family's advantage, no thanks. Risk her life by cashing in her inheritance to equip and train as an adventurer, yikes. Join the clergy of one of the Gods of Order, not bad but next please? And finally, join the bureaucracy, where her education would be an asset to make her both respectable enough to not disgrace the family but lowly enough most sniffing well-to-elite men would find her beneath them.

She wasn't just another guild girl either. She'd crossed classes as essentially a part time cleric, achieving seeker status. Which is to say, a divine magic user in service to the God of Justice that invoked miracles that detected deception. A living lie detector was quite useful to the organization, and she liked to think let her take a bit more of a devils may care attitude with some extra job security compared to her friends.

But even so, the paperwork did get boring, and her friends and next chair neighbors seemed uninterested in indulging her love of gossip today. Just because she wasn't interested in romance or adventure didn't mean she didn't love talking at length about these things, ambiguity only making it spicier.

She could take a break, but if she took it now, she couldn't take it later. And the day was still long. The Examiner had not been gone long enough that she would dare fudge her break lengths. Guild Girl might think fondly of that woman as a hero or mentor, but to Inspector she was the specter of upper management made flesh. The one who, with a cheerful smile, commandeers your secret stash of snacks for her tea party!

So with her ears usually geared for gossip and pretty secrets, she detected someone needing assistance. A legitimate diversion from her inbox was at hand!

But where? She scanned the reception area with the eyes of an eagle and a tree toad's hunger for excitement. There, a loitering adventurer at the board. The smell of rookie was strong with this one. Inspector would have to strike quickly before one of the other girls snapped the adventurer of undefined gender up.

The Supreme God taught that he can help those willing to help themselves, she was merely honoring the teachings of her god.

"Good morning, looking for a quest?" she asked. She hadn't meant to sneak up on the adventurer, but apparently her quick journey from behind the counter had startled the adventurer, as well as her colleagues.

'Heh, focus is all well and good, ladies, but focus too much on a single point and you miss the big picture,' she thought, repressing a catty smile usually reserved for eavesdropping or tugging the thread of another's 'secret' crush.

"Oh, well… I didn't think there'd still be so many," the lady adventurer said.

Hmm, a girl adventurer wasn't off at all, but most liked to show off at least their face. Maybe she had some dramatic scarring? Or was she a runaway princess?! No wait, the princess was like six or something. And they were short on princesses since the Demon Lord had carved through the royal family back in the war. Hence why the current king was not only young but a former footloose adventurer, either because he was too mighty to be devoured, as according to official reports, or as rumors went, he had simply and plainly not been present in the usual royal haunts when the demons were attacking, as the black sheep of the family.

Anyway, unless it was foreign royalty, she likely had nothing more interesting than a runaway heiress here.

Well, whatever, there was something here and she wanted a taste. Though…

"Pardon me, miss adventurer, you need to display your rank tag clearly while in the guild hall," Inspector said with a smile, pointing to the leather collar hiding the other woman's neck.

"Oh, I don't have one. I just came from the shop, you see…" the woman with a mace on her back said, pointing to the stairs.

"Oh, wanted to avoid the rush to register. Smart. Well, I can take care of that right now. Hmm, but while we are here… Aha! A sweet mission, slay ten giant rats and bring back the tails as proof, a tried-and-true classic starter adventure."

"Oh, well, actually…"

"Hey, don't go turning your nose up at dirty work now. As the doctrines of the Supreme God say, achieving excellence at lowly tasks builds the foundation for greatness. Besides, between you and me, solo lady rookies should steer clear of goblin quests. Now come along, let's get you started!" Inspector cheered, taking the leather-covered wrist and tugging the young lady along.

Registration would kill some time, and then she'd get to do a bit of advice. And after a return to paperwork for a while, it would be time for the noon rush, then lunch, and she'd have a snack in her pocket still to break up the rest of the day.

Ah, her life could be good.

X X X

"Earth Mother, how did it come to this?" Cowgirl groaned. Or maybe Helmed Warrior Woman, as the best name she could come up with when the papers were thrust at her. She even had the Porcelain rank tag on her neck.

And she was still hungry. At least registering apparently cost nothing, though Inspector had tried to sell her a number of potions until she admitted she had no money.

Which led her to here, sitting on a bench about a block down the street from the guild hall.

'Oh, I should just go back in there, apologize, and return everything. Even if I can't get all the money back, this has gone far enough.'

But she couldn't get up and do that. And no, it wasn't the unfamiliar weight of boiled leather, chainmail, and the odd piece of plate. It was glancing around, looking at the world through the visor.

Goblin Slayer hardly ever took his helmet off, maybe even sleeping in it. This clearly wasn't the same, but she couldn't help but think he saw the world like this. The sound of her own breathes fading from notice but not disappearing, the feeling of the layers pressing on her. The heat yet darkness around her head, broken only by the light and air coming through the visor grill.

Like him, the thought refused to leave.

Had he been rushed around like she'd been? Or had he boldly taken charge of every step of the process? Something else entirely?

Despite her efforts, he opened so little, she knew so little to understand him. Ignorance didn't make her care any less, you didn't need to understand to care. But she wanted to understand him just a bit more. Even if it didn't mean she could offer him anything more substantial…

"One adventure," She wondered. Just enough to get a bit of perspective, to live somewhat in his shoes, to shrink that gap between them just a hairsbreadth.

"With all this, surely I can handle giant rats?" she wondered, pulling the mace off her back.

X X X

Killing ten giant rats didn't sound easy, and it wasn't, it turned out. And she felt the casual mention of giant bugs had not covered the 'enormity' of the situation.

Sitting on a patch of grass near the town wall, she was cleaning off the mace with the ten rat tails laid out next to her. Not noticing most pedestrians speeding up to go past her, barring some children lingering to watch.

The rats had come quickly, after she'd started to wonder if there actually were any. Never more than two at a time, and she had been stunned after the first shock how much she could injure them by hitting them hard with the mace. Only one had bitten her in the leg, getting behind her after she was too focused on its partner. But the heavy leather trousers had barely torn pulling her leg free, and she'd broken its snout with her swing.

The roaches had shown up in a swarm, that big one… Yeah, she ran for it there. And even when she realized they weren't following, eating the rat corpses maybe, she had not slowed down until she reached the sewer entrance, working the latch designed to keep dumb monsters in, and still going fast up the embarkment until she hit the town street.

Knowing that place was underfoot made her like the town a bit less, she decided. Small wonder adventurers regularly had to cull the monsters down there.

"Well, that's done. So, that was an adventure. Huh," Cowgirl went. Picking up one of the tails, she looked it over. Her side dagger had worked for sawing them all off.

Had she felt a "thrill of battle" as the songs talked of? No, it had been fearful and hard work. She'd almost turned around to march out after the first pair of rats. But she believed in keeping promises, and it would not be honest to just quit.

Had it gotten easier, sure. But that was any task, right?

While she wouldn't get a full price returning this stuff after taking it into sewers, with the reward for the rats, it should at least come kind of close to breaking even.

X X X

"What am I thinking?" Cowgirl wondered, leaving the guild's loading entrance. She'd learned today the guild had storage lockers, and shoved her pouches in there while tucking the rank tag into her overalls pocket.

She couldn't bring herself to confront the shopkeeper, with either being seen as a coward for giving up after one adventure, or admit to being so spineless she'd joined by accident. And she couldn't stand the thought of telling her uncle what she'd done. He'd be angry, she had no doubt on that. She didn't fear him, but she hated the idea of upsetting him.

So, she'd asked Inspector after collecting the small reward for the sewer clearing if there was somewhere to stash the equipment while she tried to come up with something to do.

Well, adventurers worried about their stuff being stolen, same as most. So, for those who couldn't afford a locked room and didn't trust sleeping on or burying their gear, lockers could be rented. That rental fee took most of the reward; Inspector had the decency to look a bit embarrassed over that fact, but assured her the rent was for a lengthy enough period to be worth it. And also recommended Cowgirl scrub down the leathers and then bury them to get out the sewer smell.

After that day, Cowgirl had decided despite lingering doubts, to be a bit less considerate than normal and shove her smelly gear into the locker for the other adventurers to deal with the smell as they got their stuff.

Getting out of the armor itself was liberating. She'd never realized how light her work clothes were, or just how it really felt to have the breeze freely waving against your head and neck.

Stashing the key in her front pocket, she pulled her remaining reward from her purse and doublechecked the coins. Not much, but a decent lunch could be had, she supposed.

A sandwich of grilled chicken and vegetables with a cold water left her with a single copper coin to loiter around the town square with, until she judged the sun to have descended enough to finally head back to the farm. The way back was strange with no empty cart to pull. And the familiarity was puzzling after the strange day. It felt like there should some climax or revelation. But no, the gate opened as always, and she saw her uncle in the fields, putting the cows to the barn.

All was well.

Until he asked her what she'd done.

"Oh, not much. A bit of this, bit of that. Uh, I talked with one of the girls from the Adventurers Guild. The Inspector. She's nice."

"Hmm, that's good," he said, and thankfully went back to eating dinner. It was only after he went to bed Cowgirl could let out a sigh and decide she really had gotten away with it.

Though she might have to scrub extra hard tomorrow with the soapy towel.

Author's Note:

Have another!

Thank you RonaldM40196867 for your review.

Long days and pleasant nights to you all.