#saintastray

“... Saint Georgios?”     The name floated between an earnest gentle beckon and the forced expectancy for his full attention. Oh the trouble of childhood heroes and princely personas. It still felt strange to call the Rider a comrade when the man proved to just be as legendary as all the stories about him. Their mission had been simple; retrieving pelts and talons of Wyverns. Gerogios took care of them all. Berserker never deployed his Noble Phantasm(or talked much for that matter). He went relatively unscathed. Rider however? he felt too embarrassed to ask when they returned to Chaldea. Currently, he trailed behind him, heels clicking down the hall.    “ The cape and fabrics of your armor is torn. I can mend them for you. It is simple and will not take much time if you would allow me. It is the least I can do for your performance today. ”

   The afternoon drifted to dusk, dragging red-lined clouds across a darkening sky.  In the time before the day drew to a close, Shishigou prepped a simple camp. He did not require much, and servants ,more often than naught, less than humans. A couple blankets set around a small fire, the man sat with a dufflebag on his lap on one.  Objects clattered and rustled. He shuffled  things about and paused to count. One, two, three, four, five--.... Hmm. They needed another good  few dragon teeth before they could go back to Chaldea. 10 was a respectable number for a leyshift haul, he thought.

  He glanced toward the spare blanket. This singularity was pleasant during the day, but night a bit brisk, even with the fire...