Summary: Kittridge, Nicodemus and Tommas go a'hunting.
Date: 28/01/12 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None, directly
Nicodemus Kittridge Tommas Boar 
Woods — Kingsgrove

It's a fine, sunny day, the sort that's good for a hunt or for lazing about. Or, in Nicodemus's case, for training through the morning until he collapses in an exhausted heap on the bank of the pond, panting for breath and too worn to lift his sword further. Despite his exhaustion, the young knight seems pleased enough with the morning's efforts, smiling a little even as he gasps for breath.

Nicodemus can take care of the training part, Kittridge will take point on the lazing about and hunting. He's spent most of the morning doing the former, and wanders down towards the pond now, horse led behind him as he prepares for the latter. "You don't look ready to go hunting at all," he complains, prodding his brother with the butt of his spear.

Nic groans a little as he's prodded, closing his eyes against the sun and his twin's complaint. "Just roll me into the lake," he suggests. "I'm sure the cold water will revive me. No hunting birds, today?"

Kittridge gives a shove with the spear as if he might just roll him into the lake as requested. "Nah, bigger game today," he says, "Hawking's not bad, but you mostly just sit there. Takes some of the fun out of it, I think."

"Ow," Nicodemus complains for the second shove. "Ribs. I think, with hawking, the reward is watching a creature you tamed and trained succeed. Like children, I'd imagine, but smaller, more feathers and bloodlust." With another groan, he pushes up onto his elbows. "What game?"

"Mmmm, ribs," is Kit's reply, "I was thinking deer, but now you've got me thinking boar. Riiiiibs," he repeats, grinning and rubbing his hands together, eyes bright, intentionally widened into almost maniacally gleeful anticipation. He gives Nic another rap with his spear and adds, "Training hawks takes too much effort. I don't mind doing some now and then, but that's what we've got people for that for. So're you coming or not?"

"Ass," Nicodemus mutters for that final jab, resting his weight on one elbow as the other hand rubs at the much-maligned spot where the butt of Kit's spear keeps poking. 'Boar', though, gets his attention and he nods, sitting up more properly. "I'll come," he agrees. "Mother would be beside herself if some wild pig gored you to death."

Kittridge snorts. "And only you can save me, obviously. Get up, then, lazy," he exhorts, threatening with the spear once more, though he doesn't rap him with it again just yet, "I've got the gear and the guys ready and waiting for us."

"Obviously," Nicodemus agrees with a grin. He's lying on the bank of the lake, looking flushed and tired from a morning of rigorous training. Kittridge stands above him with his horse and his spear, the butt of which is pointed in a mock-threatening way towards Nicodemus's side. The blue-eyed twin pushes into a stand, walking to the edge of the lake to splash some cold water on his face and hair. "Lazed the morning away, and now you can't wait five minutes," he teases.

"Reading isn't lazing, it's a totally legitimate pasttime," Kittridge retorts, "It's not my fault you're practically illiterate. Get uuuuup!" He gestures with the spear, threatening some more, "I've got Tommas the giant to come along, and Raybob. The boar are waaaaiiiting."

"M'lords, I don't think I quite have a grasp of the protocol when it comes to protecting one o'ye from the other. If you'll beg a man his pardon," a low voice comments with a note of humor at the sight of Kittridge pointing his spear at Nicodemus. Tommas moves fairly quietly for a giant of his size, house colours exchanged for a common jerkin for hunting, a very large bow slung over one shoulder. "And your brother isn't a boar from the last I checked, m'Lord Kittridge, apples o' the estate aside."

"To be slain?" Nicodemus asks with a laugh, giving his wet head a shake before he stands. "I doubt it." He wipes water from his face and drags in a deep breath. "All right, Lord Impatience, I'm standing. Did you have my horse and spear readied as well, or will I be riding Tommas the giant?" Which is about when said giant arrives. Nicodemus coughs before smirking over (and up) at the larger man as he speaks. "Afternoon, Tommas," he says in return, "I haven't got a tusk showing, have I?"

"You're no more toothsome than normal, m'Lord," Tommas drawls slowly, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he unslings his bow to lean on it mildly. "Right attractive. My ma' used to say a lad that was long in the tooth would catch the lasses in it, that she did. Hooked."

Nicodemus laughs, curling up his lip as his tongue rubs along his canine teeth to examine their length and sharpness. "Your ma sounds a wise woman. Or, at least, a kindly one."

"Salt o' the earth, that she is. Could burn that earth first with that tongue o' hers should she catch ye at mischief, mind, and then salt it to see it never be again. But… a goodlier lady I never met," Tommas says fondly. "Excepting of course m'Lords Lady mother and gentile lady sister, that is." The big man lifts a hand to his chest, dipping in a short bow in slight apology if any offense might be given speaking of the ladies.

"Impressively terrifying," Nicodemus agrees with a sage nod, his grin reappearing as Tommas makes his hasty amends. "Excepting them, of course," he laughs. "I should hate to tell Rosanna her place as 'best female ever' was stolen from her."

"I suspect she could work up some impressively terrifying behavior of her own if you told our dear little sis something like that," Kittridge agrees, "I'm not really sure she's any less terrifying for being tiny. I'll take a rampaging boar any day. Onwards, then, lads? And yes, Nic, your gear's ready to go."

"Aye, the wee lass of a lady mighten't ever recover from the slight," Tommas agrees somewhat mournfully, placing a large hand over his heart. That would never do. "At your readiness, m'Lord." The large bow is reslung over his shoulder in an easy motion.

"Let's away, then, to reserve the goodwill of our fair lady sister and to take on a less challenging foe," Nicodemus says. "Lead on, Kit. I'm ready as I shall ever be."

"She does take things awfully personal. And gods can she shriek," Kit agrees, shaking his head and grimacing a bit in memory. "Right-o," he says to Nic, "Tally ho and all that, boys, let's mount up and head out." It's a short walk to the others' horses, held by the slightly antsy Raybob, a bulky, tow-headed fellow, another of Kit's favorite retainers. Up into the saddle they go, and out in the woods, the darker of the Groves twins whistling merrily as he leads the way.

Nicodemus follows after, climbing atop his black courser with the white leggings and picking up his spear, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. "Ought to get this rebalanced," he murmurs before setting it back again. He falls second the the procession of would-be hunters, and he takes up the harmony to Kit's tune, whistling point and tapping the fingers of his free hand on his knee.

Tommas sets off just ahead of his Lord's mounts on foot, his brow furrowed as he searches for the trails that were discovered earlier, inciting this hunt. The groves are dark and it takes a little while to find the traces. "This way, M'Lords," he utters quietly, glancing towards Raybob with a dip of his chin. "Mind the tusks, Raybob. They'll do you a pretty scar."

Kittridge nods to Tommas as he finds the tracks to take them deeper into the woods. Raybob brings up the rear, leading the extra horse, tasked with carrying additional spears and, when he isn't tracking, Tommas. "Ladies love a good scar, Tom," the other retainer calls back, and Kit agrees, "So long as it doesn't make you ugly. How's it looking?" he adds, "We may want to dismount in the thicker brush here," he suggests to Nicodemus consideringly.

<FS3> Tommas rolls Alertness: Success.

Nicodemus smirks. "True. Women are very particular about where they want a man's scars. No missing eyes or spaces where teeth should be." He considers, nodding as Kittridge gestures to where they're headed. "We'll have better mobility afoot in there," he agrees.

<FS3> Tommas rolls Stealth: Failure.

"I find myself at enough of a disadvantage with your face next to me at the tavern, Ray," Tommas quips in a laggard to the other guardsman as he pauses to look towards the brush. Raybob is a looker. Really. A crack breaks the air as he steps deeper into the brush, twigs breaking under his large feet.

"I find myself at enough of a disadvantage with your face next to me at the tavern, Ray," Tommas quips in a laggard to the other guardsman as he pauses to look towards the brush. Raybob is a looker. Really. A crack breaks the air as he steps deeper into the brush, twigs breaking under his large feet.

"Rightly so, Tommas, rightly so," replies Raybob, "Not only am I prettier than you, but my manners are prettier, too. You hold your fork all wrong." He shakes his head sadly at this state of affairs, and begins to continue when Kit lifts a hand, sliding the rest of the way to the ground as quietly as possible. "You hear something, Tom?" he asks, having noticed the big man pause. He glances to Nicodemus and gives a bit of a nod as he lifts his spear, and then, perhaps thinking that too serious, widens his eyes and waggles his brows at his brother, too.

Nic is obliged to bite his bottom lip to keep from snickering, but in return he lifts his spear and gives it a silent shake, affecting the caricature of a scowling, lunkish primitive ready to skewer dinner with weapon in hand. Ugg.

"Boar's marks, m'Lord," says Tommas, brushing away a measure of bush with the brush of a hand. It sweeps the majority of the poor shrubbery with it. "Twas here. I thought I might'a heard something." Straightening, the giant unslings his bow from his back and scans the shadows.

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Tommas with Tusks - Light wound to Left Arm (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Kittridge passes.
<COMBAT> Nicodemus passes.
<COMBAT> Kittridge has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

Kittridge smirks, and readies his spear, taking a half-step in Tommas's direction and peering at the underbrush.

As Tommas readies his arrow, his suspicions are proved correct as a boar all of a sudden comes charging out of that brush. That brush he brushed aside creating a convenient tunnel for the animal to barrel out of, he heads straight at the big retainer, tusks first.

"Woah!" is Nicodemus's opinion on the matter. He takes a small jump back, lifting his spear, though he's too far to really use it and Tommas is too much in the way to risk chucking the thing. "Careful there, Tommas!"

The big man's arrow is released with an uninspiring 'thwock', its string barely drawn as the beast comes barreling through its thrushy tunnel. It cuts lightly, grazing the boar's underbelly. Tommas stumbles backward with a curse as a those tucks score across his bow arm. "Aye, it's feisty," he agrees. Twigs crackle beneath him as he lumbers backwards, giving the party a hopefully clearer shot.

"You alright there, Tommas?" Kit calls over, taking a couple quick steps back. He lowers his spear, and gestures for Raybob to take the horses out of the way. "Alright, let's keep him pinned in here," he says, maneuvering to try to keep the boar in the grove, in the triangle between them, darting forward to take a quick stab at the beast.

Nicodemus takes up a spot across from Kit, completing the triangle. "Course he's all right," the other twin says. "Boar's big, but Tommas's bigger." He holds his own spear at the ready, prepared to strike if the boar veers close enough.

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Tommas with Tusks - Light wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - Critical wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Neck.
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Light wound to Abdomen.

The boar grunts, ears fliting anxiously as it eyes the approaching men with its beady black eyes, breath hot with labored. Then, as Tommas readies his bow, the beast charges towards himg loosing a vicious squeal as it leaps — tusks first. It is already airborne as his arrow plunges through its thick neck. The hooves catch him in the chest, bloodied tusks scoring another line on his skin as he falls backwards into the mud.

"Tommas!" Nic calls, lunging forward to strike at the hog when it's clear the arrow in the neck wasn't enough to fell it. His own spear collects but lightly, scoring a graze low on the beast's side, near his belly.

Kittridge gets in a decent blow to the animal's neck, but pulls it back a little, expecting, quite reasonably, that the arrow will bring it down. "Damn it, Tom!" he curses, moving quickly to the bigger man's aid by trying to put the boar down as quickly as possible.

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Kittridge with Tusks and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Tommas passes.
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - Light wound to Left Hand (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Critical wound to Neck.

Tommas's bow clatters usually to the ground as he falls under the weight of the boar. He'll offer his blessings to the Seven another time that his Lords are such damn good shots, hitting the boar instead of him. At the moment he wheezes, cursing as he attempts to remove the beast from him, pushing at it with an ineffectual arm.

That shove is enough, coupled with the advancing twins, to distract the boar from trying to gore the fallen Tommas, at least. At the last second he turns his attention to Kittridge, instead, whose strike is thrown off by the beast's sudden movement. That Nic's is not doesn't avail them much, though; despite taking another serious wound, the boar charges angrily on.

With the boar bearing down (sitting on) Tommas, Nicodemus moves closer, raising his arms and readying himself for a strong blow. The spear comes down, sinking deep into the boar's neck and adding a gash beside the one Kit made and the arrow still jutting out of its hoary hide. "Gods damn it," he mutters, "Die, already!"

What Nic's blow does accomplish, though, is to grab the boar's attention. Tommas's shove helps, and the beast propels itself towards the other Groves brother, making angry boar noises as it finally removes itself from Tom's torso so that it can charge at Nicodemus. "This thing is stubborn!" Kit grumbles as he aims his spear at it again, "Watch out, Nic!"

What might be a warning from Tommas comes out as more of a wheeze as he sits up; lungs protesting their previous assault of a full grown boar sitting on him like a cat. Boars are heavy. The big man looks around briefly, reaching for his fallen bow.

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Nicodemus with Tusks - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Tommas passes.
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Chest.

Nicodemus seems set to lock heads with the thing, holding his ground as the boar charges. His spear digs into the boar's side, high near the shoulder, and though the animal bleed more, he doesn't slow down. One curled tuck scrapes across Nicodemus's leather jerkin, and though it leaves a mark, the man's unhurt and grinning fiercely.

Kittridge's blow is almost a mirror of Nic's, into the boar's opposite shoulder, from behind. The spear sinks deep enough that blood flows freely as the young lord tugs the weapon back out, but it doesn't down the creature either. "You alright, Tom?" he glances quickly over his shoulder as the big man rises, and steps to the side, clearing the way for that giant hunting bow to get a shot. The boar is only more enraged by the attack, and tries again to gore Nicodemus.

"Aye," Tommas breaths with an edge as he rises to his feet, pulling an undamaged arrow from the quiver at his side. The big man is dirty and the boar's hooves have left dents in his jerkin, but otherwise he's unharmed. He flashes Kittridge a sharp grin as he steps aside, notching the arrow in preparation to fire at the raging boar.

The boar rages, tossing its big, sparsely-furred head and bellowing angrily. BoOOOoaaaaAAAAR!

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Nicodemus with Tusks - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - Critical wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - Light wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).

Nicodemus isn't too caught up in fighting the boar to neglect to notice Tommas back on his feet and notching his arrow. He, too, moves a bit out of the way, though with the boar still intent on him, it's hard to get entirely out of the line of sight. He's struck again, and though Nic grunts, his jerkin holds and he stabs with his spear again. Another cut, this one lower and along the boar's ribs. But, it's not yet enough.

The boar takes another giant arrow to the abdomen, but fares better against the spears. Kittridge's spearhead comes at the wrong angle, and skids across the animal's leathery hide, leaving little more than a scratch, while Nicodemus draws yet more blood from its leaking chest. This only makes it angrier! There is more bellowing and stamping of boar-hooves on the dirt, tusks waved about in mad (if understandable) wrath.

The boar is beginning to look like a morbid pin cushion, blood dripping down in rivulets from the stings of spears and arrows. "Watch it, m'lord," Tommas warns, notching another arrow into his bow with a frown after his first takes purchase in the beast's gullet.

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Nicodemus with Tusks - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Serious wound to Head (Reduced by Hide).

Okay, boar. It's become personal. When the monster of a pig charges this time, the tusk aims lower and cuts a fine gouge beneath Nicodemus's vest and into his belly. Growling, the Groves grabs hold of the arrow still protruding out of the boar's neck and wrenches it free, dragging flesh and hide along with it and sending up a spew of blood.

"That had better not be my jerkin you borrowed, Nic," Kit grumbles at his brother as the leather gets sprayed in boar blood. "Come onnnn," he complains at the animal, "We're impressed already, I promise, just die!" Stab stab.

"This beast seems to harken to the warrior hisself, m'Lord," Tommas drawlss, drawing back his bow to take another shot. "Mind the tusks, Lord Nicodemus."

"Yes, I see them," Nicodemus murmurs with a smirk. "Rather hard to miss." The now-bloody jerkin gets an idle swipe from his free hand. "It's only blood, Kitt. It'll come clean."

"You're so buying me a new one if it doesn't, you ass," Kittridge grumbles at his brother through teeth grit in concentration rather than anger, "I asked for that back last week!"

<COMBAT> Boar attacks Nicodemus with Tusks - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - HIDE on Right Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - NEAR MISS!

"If it'll suit you, my lords. I don't think this is time to bicker about your gowns like a couple of lasses," Tommas opines wryly. His arrow scores lightly along the boar's ribs, little more than a fleshwound. Quick as can be, he notches back another and steps to the side to get a cleaner shot.

Nicodemus flashes a grin to Tommas, which is stupid, because it takes Nic's eyes off the boar. Who gets the sort of headbutt in that's more force than tusk and sends the blue-eyed twin flying and landing a bit awkwardly on his ass. He coughs and scrambles to get up again. "Shut up, Kitt," he says pre-emptively.

"You should appreciate the value of a well-made jerkin more than anyone, Tommas," Kittridge replies, as if disappointed, "I was sure you'd understand." He snickers as Nicodemus is knocked off his feet, but moves quickly to attack the boar and prevent it from taking advantage of that brief moment of vulnerability to do the other Groves harm.

"If it pains you so m'Lord, I will see to the repairs to it myself," Tommas retorts, stepping to the side again to clear his bow's path of Groves lads. "Just so long as your brother sees it less splattered with his own blood, thank you kindly."

<COMBAT> Boar tries to attack but has no target!
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - Critical wound to Chest (Reduced by Hide).
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - HIDE on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Hide).

"No, it's mostly the boar's," Nicodemus agrees, his mirth easing away so he can focus on the beast as it charges. His spear strikes low, gouging the boar's side near the belly and leaving another wound to add to the many its accrued.

"Son of a bitch!" Kittridge curses as his spear goes awry once again, the boar's wild charging about growing even more desperate and less predictable. "I would rather it were the boar's, if it must be there at all," he concedes of blood on his borrowed jerkin, before shutting up for at least a moment to try to finally finish the mangled creature off.

Tommas says, "Aye. The boar tastes better than your brother for certain."

This time Tommas's arrow flies true, sinking solidly into the boar's chest with a slight spray of blood. The Groves boys jerkins are both going to be a splattered mess at the end of this. "Aye. The boar likely tastes better than your brother for one," he quips, reloading and moving.

<COMBAT> Boar tries to attack but has no target!
<COMBAT> Tommas attacks Boar with Hunting Bow - HIDE on Head stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Kittridge attacks Boar with Spear - HIDE on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Nicodemus attacks Boar with Spear - Moderate wound to Chest.

And now there's another arrow sticking deep into the boar's chest. Nicodemus lunches forward as the enraged animal charges past, grabbing the shaft of the arrow and ripping it free, deepening and widening the gouge there.

The boar dodges erratically and, trying not to hit his lunging brother, Kittridge pulls his spear back at the last moment, and it just scrapes along the beast's hindquarters harmlessly. The arrow that grazes its head and the other ripped out of its chest finally do the trick, though, and the boar stumbles and falls, succumbing to blood loss quickly enough that one wonders how it stayed on its feet so long.

Still as a statue with another arrow notched, Tommas stands with his bow still pointed at the fallen beast; unsure that it will not rise again after all of that. He holds the posture a moment. Then very slowly, almost respectfully lowers his bow and settles the arrow back in his quiver. Dead. Finally.

"Gods," Nicodemus pants, his hand stll curled around the arrow, jerkin spattered in blood, eyes wide and wild. "I almost feel bad we killed him, did you see him fight?"

"No, did he fight much? I missed it," Kittridge snarks at his brother as he slowly lowers his spear, lifting a hand to shove his hair back off his forehead, smearing blood and sweaty dirt around a bit. He leans on the weapon and catches his breath for a moment, and then glances at his companions. "Just a couple scratches, aye? Didn't manage to cut you too bad, Nic?"

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Tommas moves towards the fallen boar and bends down next to it — slowly, with care for the bruises it rendered stomping all over him. The big man is half covered in blood and dirt himself, hoovemarks pressed into his jerkin. "You did kill him, though. It might be a worthy of a trophy…you could make a knife hilts out of those tusks. One each of you, m'Lords," he says, removing any fragments from the beast hat'll make it painful to carry.

"You did seem to be napping half the time," Nic quips with a smirk, giving his head a quick shake as if to jostle his mind back into non-combat mode. He walks over to the boar, peering down at its fallen form and breathing out softly. "Well done," he murmurs to the beast. "Three at once, well done indeed." Glancing over at Tommas, he nods. "Just a few scrapes. Nothing too deep."

"Only excuse for missing it so many times, I suppose," Kittridge concedes, brow wrinkling in a brief frown. He looks over at Tommas, "You alright there, big man? Didn't crack any ribs when he sat on you, did he? Knife-handles, nice idea," he goes on to approve with a nod, "It's definitely too battered for a trophy-head, now, but that might do. And of course, we can roast it."

"Far too battered for that, it'll taste just as good as a pretty one and tell a better storty," Tommas says, shooting Kittridge a crooked grin that soon slips over to Nic. "I'll be wearing the marks of its dance steps, but nothing seems to be battered to badly. Mayhaps my pride a little." He shifts slightly, hand patting his ribs to be certain as he can.

"Mmm," Nicodemus agrees for roasting and trophies, "Seems best. Now, uh…" frowning faintly, he glances around at the other two men, "How exactly are we meant to get the blasted thing back home?"

"It'll taste even better, starving as I'll be by the time we get it back and cooked," Kit says. He eyes the fallen boar and then shrugs, "Strap it to the back of one of the horses," he suggests, "Tommas's is the biggest."

"Aye. Buttercup is. If you lords'll help me get it hoisted up…we can head back?" Tommas suggests, looking from one to the other. Clicking his tongue to draw his horses' attention, he rises slowly to lead the mare over so that they might settle it on her back.

Nicodemus puffs out a faint breath and nods. "Right. We can just—" blink. "Buttercup?"

"Sure thing," Kittridge nods. He heads towards the boar, turning the animal over and examining it a bit before turning back to ask, "Nic you going to help me lift this or what?"

"Buttercup." Tommas gives the horse a pat on the nose as he guides her over, back to the Groves lords. He'll hold her steady while they load up the boar.

"Huh," Nicodemus murmurs before looking over at Kittridge. "Right," he agrees, crouching down to take up the other end of the boar and heft with Kittridge. Here you go, Buttercup!

"One, two, uuuup," Kit counts off and then lifts in time with Nicodemus, the pair of them easily hoisting the boar up high enough to drape across the back of the horse. The darker of the twins sets to securing his side of the boar, saying, "Whelp, that wasn't a bad afternoon, boys. Enough for me for one day, I suppose. Back to the 'grove?"

Petting Buttercup's nose gently, Tommas settles her as the smell of bloodied boar reaches her nose and causes her to shy a little in place. There, there, horsie. "Aye. A successful one at least," he agrees, leveraging himself up into his saddle with a groan. Ow. "Indeed, my lord." He waits for the other others to mount, before beginning the path back to the Braeburn.

"Back home," Nic agrees with a nod as he goes to collect his own horse and settle into the saddle with a faint wince. "Tommas, you should let the Septa have a look at you when we're back. I know you're a big fellow, the boar was bigger."

"Agreed," Kit chimes in, "Wouldn't do to have you walking around injured and not knowing it," he says, swinging up into the saddle without a wince, himself, patting his mount's neck and turning him for home. "Just in case, you know. I heard of a fellow once cracked a rib and didn't know it, and then the rib bit stabbed him in the lung somehow and he died." He nods sagely.

The big man's shoulders droop and his features shift into something that — if they were more delicate — might be called a pout. Tommas doesn't want to get stabbed in the lung. "Must I? Septa Day is going to be worse than the boar," he sighs.

"She will not. She hasn't got any tusks," Nicodemus points out perfectly reasonably. After a moment's thought he adds, "Weighs far less, too. Can't see how there's really a comparison."

"Much prettier," Kittridge adds helpfully, "Doesn't grunt as much. Never tried to gore me that I can recall." He shakes his head, "Nope, not seeing any comparison."

"Oh, yes. Much more attractive…but the boar was far more complimentary of my skills. She's just going to chew my ear off and poke me with those curious fingers," Tommas…well, it's a bit of whine and more of a sulk. "Can't imagine she'll actually sit on my chest though."

"Not unless you ask ever so sweetly," Nicodemus offers with a grin. "Anyhow, she's a soft touch. If she starts to chew on your ear, just offer up an appropriately wounded and crestfallen expression, and she'll stop."

"Can't say I'd complain much if she did," Kittridge comments, "Might shove her a bit lower, but all things considered I can think of much worse." He beams at Tommas. "If she starts to chew on your ear, just tell her she's welcome to mine anytime she likes. Unless you meant that metaphorically?" he looks to his brother, "In which case, nevermind."

"The seven help both of your irredeemably dirty mind, that's a Septa you're speaking of," Tommas says, looking from one to another with a decidedly slack-jawed expression. He gives Kittridge a decidedly stern look. Behave yourself, lord.

Nicodemus clears his throat, affecting Tommas's stern look and shining it on Kittridge. "Tommas is quite right. Septa. Mind your thoughts, Kitt."

"My thoughts!?" Kittridge affects innocence and insult, and points at his brother, "Don't look at me with that face, Tommas, it's him you should be turning it on. I am the soul of decency and virtue. So there." He snatches a crabapple off a tree as they pass and lobs it at his knight, and off they ride.