Might not be your cup of tea, but some more of my fantasy nonfiction travel writing. This is part 5, there’s 4 parts that precede it if you want to read more context. If you like football / soccer and Hemingway’s vignettes of nature you might like this — though this is probably about 1/16th as prosaic as ol’ Papa Rum.
By W.T. tuqMairtin, an excerpt from the novel “Povs In Kyrum”
Up ahead, on the trail, the rest of the players had filed back into line. They were about 30 yards ahead. Kældurn looked back, to check on me I assume. I lowered the water bag down and gave him a thumbs up. He shot me a salute back. I sprinted a few steps to tewkKyoo’ihf and the trusty waterbearer, handed her back the bag, helped her swing it over her head and shoulder, then grinned at them, “Come on, we’ve got a little catching up to do.”
We bolted forward, the team and the hills gaining ahead and leaving the city back below to the right. It wasn’t a dead sprint by any means, but probably a good solid 5 minute-a-mile dash.
“You made it, survived one of the toughest parts.” Kældurn welcomed us back.
I huffed and puffed…
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