Godmar's hand had gone beyond aching. He barely felt it anymore, just a dull numbness.
He'd written more than three hundred names on his own tally, as close as he could reckon, and that didn't include whatever the others had registered at the other gates. It had been a long day. He'd admitted as much around morning, and the hours afterward had seemed determined to prove he'd underestimated it.
That was enough to carry into tomorrow.
More than enough.
Boots approached behind him.
"Still breathin'."
Aldwin gave him some careful once-over, "Reckoned you'd keeled over face first into that gate hours back, way you looked haulin' yourself off this mornin'."
Godmar snorted, "Someone's gotta stand there lookin' useful while the rest of you sit on your arses all day."
"I don't sit on my arse. I sit on a bench. There's a difference, and it's an important one."
Osric stepped alongside them, his tally board still tucked beneath one arm as though he'd forgotten he was carrying it.
