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His RUSTY plate. Where the plates joined, where the contoured muscles formed deep ridges, the dark brown rust gathered.
“You look overly stressed.” he said to me.
“Your armor.” I said. “It’s...”
He chuckled. “I know. In my youth, I would have taken pride in it. I would want to die looking well.”
“You aren’t even that old.” I said. “A decade or so into your adulthood, from the looks of it.”
He spat to one side. “Oh, it may not be today, and it may no ...
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Author’s Note