“Drink up, lads!” the king yelled. “Tonight we feast, and tomorrow we storm the castle!”
A cheer rose from manly throats eager to dine and drink.
But not from Thomas. He casually wandered away from the roast beeves and the hogsheads of ale.
He went off into the woods, alone. When he came to a little clearing, he sat on the ground and rested against a stout tree.
“There must be more to life than storming castle after castle on the say-so of a mad king,” he muttered.
“Couldn’t agree more,” said an unexpected voice.
Thomas looked up and saw a man emerge from behind a tree. The man was adjusting his lower garments, making it easy to guess what chore of nature he had been tending to.
“Who’s there?” Thomas asked.
“Nobody important. Just the son of the mad king who keeps ordering us to storm castles.”