"Would you rather fuck a goat once a year, or be dragged into the lord's army every time a war breaks out?"
The voice came from a soldier leaning lazily over the crenellations of Freusen's outer wall. His elbows rested on the cold stone, his spear balanced loosely against his shoulder. He stared out into the dusky fields beyond, but his grin was angled toward the man beside him.
"Neither," came the flat reply.
The other sentry stood with his back against the parapet, eyes fixed on the road far below. He spat, watching the gob fall until it splattered on the dirt.
The first man's grin faltered. "It's not funny if you don't at least try to play along. Read the room, you miserable bastard."
"Fuck you. I'm not playing."
"Fine. Good riddance. Waste of a question anyway."
Silence settled between them. They waited each other out, breaths steaming faintly in the cooling air.
It lasted all but twenty seconds.
"I'm sorry I called you a fucker," the first soldier muttered at last.
