Today’s Word: Wizened
Old King Card gripped his sword with a wizened hand, lifting the blade above his head where it shook like dry leaves on a windy day.
“To me!” he cried, and started down the green hill at a gallop, only to topple from his horse and roll into the enemy’s front line.
For a moment there was silence on the field, as men on both sides watched the golden lump of ornate armor lie still on the grass. Then a cheer rose, from both sides of the battleground. Card’s Lord General, Faragain, rode forward, cast his sword before Castel, his heretofore mortal enemy, and said, “Thank God that man is dead. We surrender.”
— david j.