The Commanders lost sole

In the hut next to the Commanders Bejonias sits up and listens to Elketra's cursing.

Boots? Bejonias thinks as she lays back on her bed, Elketra missed the frogs in her quiver? What's this about boots,...

Listening to the sound of the rain on the thatch of her roof Bejonias quickly goes back sleep and is soon dreaming.

In her dream Bejonias is on her horse ridding threw the meadow. She spots a rabbit nose down into something. She shoots the little varmint with her bow, the the rabbit lets out a sequel and falls down. Bejonias gets off her horse and looks the rabbit. It's covered with red. Instinctively Bejonias knows the red is not blood, but tomato sauce. She takes a step forward and her boots make squishing sound from the tomato sauce they have suddenly been filled with.

"Crap," Bejonias mutters to herself in her dream "The gnomes got me too"

The wind suddenly turns hot, the ground dries up and the sky goes dark in her dream. Bejonias looks to the east and sees a wall of broiling dust. She grabs for her scarf to cover her nose and mouth and realizes she tossed it away on the boat from Egypt.

The cloud of sand blows over her and the sun goes dim. Bejonias curses to herself that the sand storms happening here in Celtland as she turns around to try to get back to the fort. Then dark wings flutter by her in the dust, their touch like cold, icey slime. Bejonias screams and slashes at the darkness and wings with her dagger.

And wakes up in the middle of her hut

Panting and covered with sweat Bejonias looks around the hut still disoriented from her dream. She is standing next to the huts fire with her dagger in her hand.

Just a fighting dream, that's all, Bejonias tells herself and relaxes and looks around for were she tossed her dagger sheath.

And a large black feather floats down from the smoke hole in her hut's roof.

The Commander enters her dwelling after a long hardened day and quickly lays upon her favorite fur bed as like throwing a wet mop to the floor. With the expertise of a fire performer, she blows out the last candel that sits across the room. Letting only the smoldering coals of her fire light the night. The faint whispers and chuckles of her sisters, distant dog barking, and campfire crackles float through the cool night air of the village.

Deep in her usual ritual of giving gratitude for her eventful day, she notices a familiar sensation burning at the base of her worn right foot. She tries to focus her mind on her intentions, yet the sensations grows stronger with every throb of her pulse.

The Commanders mind sifts through the images of the day, struggling to recall how she somehow knows this particular pain that is nagging at the ball of her foot, as if it were an old friend such as the wart that lives on her left elbow. A faint recollection of an scene floats before her minds eye.... she remembers riding fast threw the meadows just the otherside of the drink from the village. Feeling a sudden cool breeze at the bottom of her foot. There was not another thought to that immediate sensation the rest of the day as she unconsciously adjusted her foot from the discomfort. Though come to think, she did notice that the gravel along the pathway from the dock felt particularly sharp on this day. As well she is understanding her uncharacteristic loss of footing during a spar earlier this afternoon.

She sits up suddenly with the spark of revelation and crawls on all fours to the door and reaches for her boots in the darkness, feeling for the right boot, as her hands fumble over the cold hard leather. She finds the correct boot and moves closer to the fire, turning the sole towards the glow of the smouldering coals.

In the faint crimson light she can scarcley make out a darkened area right there in the ball of her boot! Heel still intact forward sole is missing! "What the @#&* ?" she grumbles outloud as she shoves her finger into the soft leather now exposed. She throws the boot hastily towards the door to make it land with its mate and flops back down to her fur in frustration. Knowing she is no shoemaker, she struggles to rest with the feeling of unfinished business and a lingering puzzle of how she is going to fix this dilemma.

The Commander falls into a deep sleep dreading the morning, as the lull of the rain starts as a light patter upon the thatched roof, turns to heavy downpour.

Little does she know that there is a devious plot behind the loss of her sole, far reaching the innocence of a mere prank.....