The daring were punished. They had been aware of the risks their actions might have, both to themselves and their loved ones.
Golem's Bridge over the Tankard River was never meant to be tread on by anything but golden-shoed royal feet.
The daring waited until the guard at the gate had dozed off. The four of them climbed over the iron bars, hauling their cigar-shaped package behind them. They reached the middle of the bridge and unfurled, freeing the drab fabric and coils of rope.
They worked quickly, tying ropes to each other's wrists and ankles, threading it through the crude holes in the tarps.
The daring stood there, and looked over the edge. Three hundred feet down to the rapidly moving river, the chasm was only fifty feet at it's widest.
A cry came from beyond the gate, the guard had awoken. The daring tugged at the knots, inspected the fabric. The guard turned the key and swung the gate open.

The daring stood on the ledge and dropped, arms and legs opened wide, the

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CraigTowsley (joined almost 11 years ago)
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I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.

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