Snippet 2: The Wolves of Kilgaryn

As welcome as the wisdom is that comes with old age, the tradeoff is in aches and pains. I shaded my eyes from the morning sun to scan again for the shepherd and, though I had not been resting long, the creaking in my bones ensured that I would soon be using the stick to leverage myself to a standing position. I was a bit peeved at having to shorten my stay on the hilltop. Dashing about the countryside was young man's work and I fully intended that the shepherd should get an earful on that point. Honestly though, part of my gripe was realizing that my earlier thought regarding the comfort of wet breeches was quite correct. Dew, warmed to body temperature, had not only made my clothes sticky, but also collect in various and private crevasses which were sure to be thoroughly chafed by the time I reached the bottom of the hill. It was with heavy muttering on my tongue that I began picking my way back downhill.