"What do you make of this, King Patrick?" He asked, as politely as he was able to.
"A poor showing, I'm afraid," Oliver replied immediately, still grunting with the weight that he was pulling up. Then, when it was at the top, and safely on the lip of the well, and in another man's hands, he turned to look the man that asked the question in the eyes. "You have my apologies, smith," he said. "This is my failure as a King. But you have my assurances, that I will not allow this to slow us down. They have burned Ernest, and filled it full of ash. We will use that ash as fertilizer, and sow a crop for a glorious future. A different future than I had planned, no doubt, but the Gods will ensure it to be satisfactory."
Passionate enough that those that listened believed him. Not words merely spoken for words' sake. A look in stormy eyes that were full of light. When the wind howled then, it did not howl to spread the fire, or flame. It seemed to spread something else.
