Little Boy Of The Mountain F
--F--
"Mother, someone is coming up the valley. I will go meet him on the way down to the woods. He is on the path"
He hugged and said goodbye to his mum, and since he lacked his staff, he fetched from his chest his backup: a trusty little wooden club, an early essay in his carving arts. In making this he had been inspired by Uncle Obúdius, who always carried with him a battle-mace like those wielded by the plains militia, with a pentacle engraved in it's darkwood handle.
The child was awed and much enamoured of it, for little boys seem ever to have a propensity to gravitate towards tools of war - but the mace was much too heavy for him to wield. He looped the strap of his wooden facsimile on his belt and reached for his pouch of iron sling shot. From behind the front door, from it's hook, he retrieved his winter coat, just in case the weather turned for the worse.