A plinking sound wakes me out of my poor, almost non-existent slumber. I crane my head and glance over the foot of my bed. Water seeps through a crack in the roof, trickling down into my near overflowing piss pot. I try to sit up but pain shoots up my leg and I fall back, almost slamming into the headboard.

Thank the gods it's still raining but it's not kind to my body. Ever since my injury it never has. My head hurts too. It pounds and kneads. It's as if I've been kicked squarely between the eyes by some raging warhorse.

Gritting my teeth, I sling myself out of bed and thump to the window, catching myself with outstretched hands on the sill. The fresh morning air washes over me as soon as I open it. Rain pours onto the ghostly street below. It cascades and patters. It ebbs and flows with varying ferocity, and I can see no flame or smoke billowing in the air.

Yes, such a gift from the heavens. I pray it continues forever. Rain means no attack from wooden dragons and if the reservoir is running low, this will surely make it swell. The parks in the city will thrive with all this water too, which will ease the theft's burden.

It's early. Too early. I did not sleep long at all. A couple of hours at most. I still feel tired but I know I won't be able to close my eyes again.

I turn around and check the crack in the roof. It's getting worse. Wider. Longer. And it festers just like my leg. With supplies I could fix it with ease – getting on the roof would be the hardest part – but there's just nothing available left in the city. I empty the full piss pot before placing it back under the dribble.

After getting dressed into my sheriff's coat, I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I start rummaging through the cabinets. I'm looking for one thing. Elixir. But all I see are empty bottles. Too many to count.

I need to get more. I yearn for it. I tremble for it. It tortures me like a brain in a rack.

And as soon as my thoughts descend on the particular person that can give me what I want, he so happens to walk through the kitchen door without permission. As if what's mine is his.

'You really hate knocking, don't you,' I say to my personal elixirman. 'Love sneaking into my home. Do you do this when I'm not here?'

The man, five years my junior and wearing a vibrant blue cloak, trudges over to the kitchen table and sits down. Then combing his manicured mustache, he replies, 'Like all the times before, I just came by to see how you're getting along.'

'Well my leg's still killing me,' I growl.

'Is that it?'

'Is that it!' I raise my voice.

'There's nothing else?' he just asks without any reaction to my growing hostility.

'There's never been anything else. It's always just been my fucking leg. How many times do I have to tell you that?' I then ape his question to myself, 'There's nothing else? There's nothing else?' before saying, 'It's as if you are day and night, echoing over and over and over.'

My elixirman frowns.

He always frowns.

'Don't give me that face,' I say. 'Just give me more of your elixir.'

'Unfortunately, sheriff,' my elixirman replies, 'there won't be anymore. I just can't get a hold of the ingredients, any ingredients, these days.'

'You're jesting me,' I snap.

'I wish I was.'

'And what am I supposed to do?'

'There's nothing you can do.'

'But what about my duties? It's hard enough without me wanting to saw my leg off with my teeth.'

'That's what I want to talk to you about. And you may not like what I'm about to say–'

'I'm sure I won't–'

'But I implore you to retire from the law.'

I give him a warning look. 'I will forget you said that. And I implore you to keep your opinions to yourself in the future. You are not my sage. You are not my friend. You are not my wife.'

He gives me a frown again, something I'd love to wipe from his face. He then gets back to his feet.

'If you're not going to listen, I should be off,' he says.

'That's a good idea.'

Once the insufferable man leaves as quickly as he came, I eat my morning ration of food. More soured cabbage and salted beef. A cup of treebean brew would wonderfully wash it down and give me a jolt I need but I drank all my allowance weeks ago.

My mind turns to Seamil. I hope nothing happened to him. I don't remember seeing any of the wooden dragons hitting the wall and that gives me some relief. I then remember that I promised him I'd go see Lorma. I'll do that before going to the Dumps. It will be nice seeing her.

The stone dwelling that is my home is attached to a foundry, its blacksmith a kind old man with great talents. And as I walk outside, I can hear him hard at work. Metal pounds metal. He keeps extremely busy during these times, not even stopping when there's an attack. Not a soldier but a warrior. It's good to have him as a neighbor. He reminds me to keep plodding on. To stay with what this world has entrusted me with, my duties.

I pull up the hood of my sheriff's coat, hiding my face from the rain. I whistle loudly and sharply, the blacksmith stopping what he's doing.

'Morning, sheriff,' the man yells from inside, his raspy voice swelling out from the open entrance.

'Morning, Able,' I shout in reply and he goes back to work.

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It only takes a dozen or so moments before I hear the clopping of hooves between Able's hammer strikes. I look down the street and see the wet rag of a donkey appear, the intended target of my whistle. She stops to eat some grass poking up from the cobblestones before continuing towards me.

'Morning, May,' I say as soon as the animal is in reach. I pet her, ruffling her soaking head with a hand. 'I hope all the commotion last night didn't frighten you. Come on, I need you to take me somewhere.'

May follows me to the back of my home, where my sheriff's carriage awaits. I secure her to the reins and hop on the driver's seat, which is easier said than done.

'Walk on,' I say and we slowly head off.

Passing the homes of several of my men, all still alive and asleep in their beds, we reach the gateway to the inner city, a walled off section for the higher ups, the officials, lords and lordesses, and the once well-to-do merchants.

The guards, looking worse for wear, let me through with ease.

To say that the inner city is unlike the rest of the city would be putting it delicately. An entirely different world many have said. The siege, however, is doing its bit to slowly eat away at that. The grand homes and buildings are showing tear. Many probably have leaks in their roofs like mine.

The streets of marble slab glisten with the rain, making it seem like the carriage is riding atop rivers. Before the siege, they were kept pristine, the slabs being replaced when they needed to be. Now, there are too many cracks.

In time, I arrive at my friend's home. It's as big as all the other homes with a courtyard of overgrown hedges and a foul smelling, moss-covered fountain that has seen better days.

I'm surprised to see Lorma staring out one of the large ground windows, her green eyes dazzling in the dreariness. She's surprised to see me too, but a smile grows on her slender beautiful face and she waves. With my own smile, I wave back before she disappears.

I fumble off the carriage to then see her standing inside the front entrance, a green morning robe to match her eyes wrapped tightly around her small frame. She would only greet a good friend in such attire. Yes, not very lady-like otherwise.

I don't know how long I'll be here so I untie May and let her wander off once again.

As I walk up, Lorma smiles again and says, 'Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.'

'Likewise, lordess,' I reply back, taking off my hood.

Her smile fades and she gives me a wicked eye.

'How many times have I told you not to call me that,' she says. 'I have known you, Pannor, as long as I've known Seamil.'

I wink at her playfully. 'You know I jest.'

'But when have I ever laughed at that?'

'Never,' I admit.

'But you continue to call me lordess.'

With a smirk, I shrug.

Lorma shakes her head before saying with a huff, 'Come in out of the rain.' She then glides inside.

I'm right behind, soon taking off my coat and hanging it on a hook next to the suit-of-armor the late lord, Lorma's father, wore in battle. Memories flood my mind. Seamil and I fought under his command, leading to Seamil and Lorma meeting and getting married.

'Let's go to the kitchen,' Lorma says and guides the way.

The kitchen has become the favorite gathering spot for many under the siege. Being close to your food is like sitting by a fire, someone said to me.

We walk down a corridor where vases of exotic flowers once stood but now stand empty collecting dust and grime.

The eeriness of the place gets me every time I visit. Noise from servants used to be endless, but since the males had to join the army and the females the vigils, sound is more than absent. I don't know how Lorma can live in this big home all by herself. If I was Seamil, I would worry unceasingly.

The kitchen is twice as big as my kitchen and bedroom combined. She waves a hand over a chair beside the work table and I take a seat.

'I see you have a new friend,' she says, sitting down on the opposite side.

I scrunch up my face, confused. The last friend I made was my wife. And before that, Seamil.

'The donkey,' she explains.

I grin from ear to ear. 'Ah, yes. And a good companion, too.'

'What happened to Bess?'

'She was taken. Confiscated.'

'Confiscated? Why?'

'For consumption.'

Lorma gasps. 'Poor thing. I'm so sorry.'

I nod somberly. 'If I ever get a ration of horse meat, I will not be eating it.'

'Neither. She was such a lovely creature.'

'Indeed she was. We had many a good rides.'

'So how did you come to be with the donkey?'

'The man who took Bess away gave her to me as an apology. He was assaulted several years ago at a tavern, almost meeting his maker, and I caught the man who did it. He said he owed me.'

'Do you board her at the same stables you kept Bess?'

I shake my head. 'The stables were torn down to grow vining sugarfruit. All the horses there were confiscated.'

'Where do you keep her then? Don't tell me you let her in your house. Fey would not approve.'

'No, she wouldn't have,' I say sadly.

'So where? At the sheriff's keep? In the yard?'

'It gets too crowded there. I just let her go free. Let her wander the streets and I call her when I need her. Nevertheless, when it came to Bess, I couldn't feed her any more. Nothing was available. She was starting to get thin.'

'Well how do you feed the donkey?'

'I don't. She's very good at sneaking onto the king's lawns.'

'Really?'

'Yep. I saw her once feeding with the royal steers.'

'So the king gets to keep his horses?'

'Are you surprised?'

'Not at all.' There's a pause before Lorma asks, worry washing over her. 'Have you seen Seamil since the attack? He sent me a message saying he was fine but you know how he likes to tell me fibs about his health.'

'When has he ever done that?' I play dumb. Well, try to anyway.

'The time he got stabbed at the Battle of Aporah. He never told me about it until I saw the wound mark.'

'I didn't know about that.'

'Pannor, I'm losing my mind here while Seamil is on the wall. More so than when you and him were away for months on end with the army.' There's another pause before she continues, 'I wish Fey was still with us. I miss her so much.'

'I wish she was still here too,' I say, fiddling with my wedding ring.

'She would have made everything so much better.'

'There's no doubt about that.'

'You're looking very skinny, Pannor,' Lorma says after a pause. 'Fey would hate to see that. Would you like some food?'

'I can't take your food.'

'Please, let me make you something. My hands are too idle these days.'

I don't refuse a second time.

Lorma gets up from her chair and starts to cook, the smell of bacon sizzling in a pan soon wafting in the air and making me drool.

'Where did you get bacon?' I say. 'I haven't had a ration in weeks. I don't think anyone I know has either. Well, except you clearly. Did you hear about the theft at the granary?'

'I did,' says Lorma, flipping a rasher at the stove.

'They stole bacon, amongst other things. Oats, apples from the greenhouses, all sorts.'

'Did they now?'

'You're not the thief, are you?' I joke.

She does not take too kindly to that jest either. 'You know I'm a good woman. I've been saving the good food I get, hoping to feed it to Seamil when he comes home, if he ever does.'

I watch as she plates the bacon and brings it over, placing it in front of me. It is one of the most glorious sights. I then make Lorma frown for the umpteenth time in my life by using my hands instead of cutlery to eat.

I can't help myself. Salted pork is far superior to salted beef.

Lorma sits back down. And as I start polishing off my plate, the two of us talk about a time when Fey was still around, long before the siege, about the story of our marriages and how we wed the night before Seamil and I had gone off to war.

'To be young again,' I say as we recall our goodbyes the day after. 'You do know Seamil was crying like a baby for days on our march.'

'I know,' Lorma says, 'he told me.'

Finishing my last bite, I say, 'Well, Lorma, I must go. Thank you for the bacon.'

Lorma looks disappointed. 'You are quite welcome.'

'I promise to visit again shortly.'

'That would be excellent. And how about taking something for later?'

'I can't take any more of your food.'

'You will take some apples,' Lorma commands. 'You need some roughage after eating all that bacon.'

She sounds like Fey, always demanding I eat my fruit and vegetables.

'You won't take no for an answer, will you?' I respond.

'Absolutely not. And if you can't finish them all, give the rest to your men or that donkey of yours.'

She briefly leaves the kitchen before returning with three golden apples. And after handing them to me I bid her goodbye.