Twenty-Seven
The Long March
Autumn 961 MC
Toby Whitaker sat by the side of the road. "I have a stone in my boot," he complained.
"Let's move off the road a bit," said Angus, an old soldier. "You don't want to get run over." He grabbed the younger man's arm, guiding him to a nearby rock. "Have a seat, here, and see to it." He pulled the sling bag from his back, fished out a bottle and took a swig.
Toby sat down, struggling to pull the leather footwear loose. "My feet are killing me," he said. "How much longer are we going to march?"
"Until we give them a good drumming," the old warrior answered as the Army of the Twelve Clans marched past.
"I thought we'd be in Summersgate by now."
"We'll get there soon enough, my young friend." Angus took another swig of the bottle, "Here, have som
