8. Shed
°
The plate was held on by straps, concealed by heavy fabric. The buckles were built for easy-release, which was a mercy - though half a dozen more remained, hidden under arms and across the chest, around the backs of the legs. The heavy ornamentation went the same way as the rest of the plate, more complex but similarly secured within the heavy surcoat. Beneath the surcoat was the tunic, beneath that the layer of fine mail, but first the gloves had to give way to the rest of the sleeves. At the end of the road were well-worn leather boots, tight yet comfortably fitting trousers, a final shirt snug over the shoulders - beyond, simple skin and bone, no more than flesh. At the end of the journey - the ritual, the ordeal, the meaningless everyday routine - was just a man.
It was a road so well traveled, the process had become rote and inconsequential to complete on his own. He was so practiced that receiving help was technically a hindrance - certainly an extension of the time required for its completion. But he welcomed the help when offered, despite the unpracticed clumsiness, the questions, the distracting little touches.
It was a process she wished to learn, even if just for the sake of the gesture. She was curious, and she was selfless, and she was devoted. She smiled at the end, letting out a sigh of accomplishment.
"I'm sure it's easier with experience, but I can't imagine doing this all by yourself every day," she said.
"Remarkable what one can become accustomed to," he observed, and began to help the woman with the world on her shoulders unfasten her overcoat.
