From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Kronk knew all these days of traipsing through the snow would come back to haunt him. He’d heard that life catalogued all your injuries and gave you the bill in your twilight years. If that were true, he’d be an arthritic, creaky old man. The thought wasn’t as unsettling as it could have been. He did not intend to live that long, and if he did, his aching bones would just be proof of what he accomplished.
What those accomplishments were, still remained to be seen.
So far all he’d accomplished was being a lieutenant of a charred and burned home. Still, what was burned could regrow, they could rebuild, and that was his true mission. Kronk nodded in acknowledgment of Riordan’s name, and of his purpose. Exploring was a fine pastime. Kronk had been a wanderer, once upon a time. But, the tobiano stallion wasn’t much for that life. He liked having deep, thick roots that kept him firmly planted in the ground. It was nice to have someplace to go home too, when the world was as cold as this. Kronk chuckled at Riordan’s mention of the Field.
“That it can. You meet all sorts of characters in the Field.” That much was true. Kronk had done some recruiting in the Field, and each time was memorable. Competition for recruits or herd members was stiff, and he’d heard one or two particularity pointed barbs about his home. First, about its pacificity, and then about its ruin. Yet another thing that Kronk hoped to change. Riordan asked after his purpose and Kronk answered, leaving off some of his more colorful thoughts.
“I’m recruiting for my home, the Gates. We need men, women too of course.” There, very to the point. Kronk wasn’t going to beat around the bush, the man had asked, and so he had answered. There was perhaps a more elegant way to conduct his business, but Kronk was a solider, not a diplomat. He did his best.
Kronk
