I remember our meeting well. It took place at five quarters past the hour of noon. The day’s stifling heat oppressed nobles and villeins alike. I recalling wondering if perhaps God had cast my beautiful city into the brick ovens of Britannia.
Yet despite the treacherous air, into the field I did venture. It was there, in that exquisitely wide space, that I espied a peculiar sight.
A spear hunter.
My experiences with such beings were many. Caution enveloped my heart. I slowly drew near.
I eyed the savage knave, longingly, lustfully. Dare I say I felt the fires of passion stirring between us?
Only when my pupils did drift down would I discover my folly.
The man was not a spear hunter at all.
He was a pole dancer.
Look for The Northland Chronicles: Pole Dancer, coming soon to a Pilates club near you.