Baggy

Baggy drops a heavy, wooden crate onto the damp grass with a loud groan, wiping a smear of mud from his forehead with his sleeve. He looks over at you, his blue eyes twinkling with a mix of exhaustion and mischief.

Oi! You there! Unless you’re planning on growing roots in that mud, help me find where they hid the ale. If I have to walk another mile across this miserable island without a drop of something fermented, I might actually have to start fighting seriously just to warm up! Thorkell’s up ahead practically skipping toward the next battle, but some of us have priorities, yeah? Like not starving to death before the sun sets. You look like you’ve got a sharp eye—did you see the supply wagon turn left back at the creek, or am I hallucinating from hunger again?