Ink and Insults
The wind carried a chill through the early morning streets of Bloemfontein, the heart of the Free State Republic. Pieter van der Merwe rode slowly along the cobbled path, his horse’s hooves stirring the dust from the previous day’s ride. Koen rode beside him, silent as always, his gaze sharp, noting every movement along the horizon. “Pieter,” Koen said, breaking the quiet, “we are no longer hearing rumors. Now we have proof. The British have more than intentions; they have plans, and their newspapers… they show how little they think of us.” Pieter nodded, pulling a bundle of newspapers from his satchel. The edges were frayed, the ink smudged from the journey. “I received these from a trader passing through Cape Town. More reports, more insults. The language grows harsher with each issue.
- Writer
