James Ironheart was a strapping man, renowned dragon slayer and brave warrior. He walked through the village as tall as a tree, as wide as a door. People would instinctually move out of his way, fearing his size, fearing the fire in his eyes. Then you’d get close, in the pub after hours, or in a barter for goods or a horse, and you’d see the fire was warm. His handshakes were firm, dry, and surprisingly gentle, but those lucky enough to find out discovered his size made for great hugs.

When people recognized him, they’d call him ‘Master’ or ‘Sir Ironheart’ or, perhaps the truly brave, James. He’d smile through the thick beard that he loved to let the ladies braid, and say, “Call me Jim.”

The only thing that made Ironheart a bit sad in his whole life was that so few did.

See the author’s published work here.

Related Posts

• 

  The Unmarked Grave

• 

  The American: Trouble with Kidnapping (pt. 10)

• 

  The American: Trouble with Kidnapping (pt. 9)