And many puddles of blood


He was dripping in sweat as he had walked at least 10 miles thus far. He took off his shoes and stared at them. They had been through a lot. Many dances, many fights and many fires. Oh, and many puddles of blood. Many.  It was a testment to his fastidiousness that none of the past events, trials and tribulations had left a permanent stain on the shoes.


He rested his sword on the ground and looked up to the sky. He needed guidance. He needed to understand how much more he could take.   He couldn’t read his own reserve. He needed to know how much more blood, pain and dances would his shoes withstand.


His troubadour heart would keep on singing but his arms carried a huge load. His feet would only tap for so much longer.


He looked up at the sky again and there was the sign he ahd been looking for.   He stared at the shoes and smiled.   His dad would be proud.

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