My Keep Goes Quiet Before the Mower Starts

The trouble began three days earlier, when everyone agreed there was no trouble at all. My mower sat beside the propane tank with one wheel sunk in wet ground; the yard was quiet enough to hear the loose gate latch tapping. In Iron Realms, that is the hour when banners look most dependable.

I had taken mine out and ridden alone again before swearing it back to [ENVY] yesterday; some loyalties require more testing than a saddle girth. Lord Duncan Fenn walking out made the hall noisier than the yard, but I have grown less interested in making a quarrel useful to spectators.

Thirteen seasons of a man saying yep, and the mower still waits for the blade to be checked, the fuel cap tightened, and the smallest hinge watched. You can laugh at the jokes; I do. Then look at the gate.