“Well, the real throne’s down the hall and to the left if you need it.”
With his jet-black fur finally attaining that salt-and-pepper sheen that came with age, Leonard Ford Godred still looked as regal as the cowboy could in the setting sun. Flanked on his right as always was Eric, the red-furred mechanic kicked back with his work-boots on the rail of the porch. Sat on the table between them were two steins big enough to swim in, though they were so seldom touched between the long treatises on everything from rattling off specs to philosophy to war stories.
Between the time he took the battalion over the top on the earliest of Haven’s hovertanks and his tenth sip, Godred looked up to the horizon and froze. The black wolf stood silent and statuesque as he gazed out into the distance. Eric knew his old friend could get rather stoic from time to time, but this was different. Something had caught his eye.
“Hey Leo, whatcha thinking?”
Nothing. His eyes dashed across the horizon, looking for something. All that was there were the dark, distant mountains, wisps of desert dust dancing in the evening’s breeze, and the setting sun painting the sky in all manner of reds, oranges, purples and yellows.
“I mean it’s a good sunset, but I didn’t think it’d wrap you ‘round her finger.”
“Nah, not that.” Godred grumbled before taking a long swig of his amber ale. “Just running numbers. Way you convert inches to miles on a map. Gotta keep the brain sharp at this age.”
Eric nodded, swinging his boots off the rail. “Whatcha figuring?”
“Anything.” he grinned. “Gas mileage on Betsy, that old stratagem from 2425 that really fucked ‘em one in the eye. Right back to good ol’ arithmetic they taught in school. Musta looked like a bot for a sec didn’t I?”
The red wolf snickered. “Shit, man, you almost had me.”
“Only one I never do that in front of is Gwen.” Godred added. “Poor gal thinks I’m liable to have a stroke when I go into one of them trances. I ain’t at the mushy peas part of old age yet. And fuck me, I ain’t ever gonna get there.”
He leaned back against the wall of the house, and felt the gentle touch of a kiss upon his head. It was Gwen, leaned out the living room window.
“And the way you keeping up with the routine,” his tender wife smiled, bouffant draping over her man’s snout. “I think we can keep you on the road yet.”
“Watch it honeybear,” he grinned, kissing her chin. “I might putcha to the test if I get a second wind tonight.”
“We’ll see.” she winked before handing over two more cans of beer. “Just in case you boys need to top off.”
“Thanks darling.” Godred smiled and passed the second can to Eric. Gwen disappeared back into the house and left the old friends to their conversation.
“Jesus, she really does wait on you hand and paw.” the red mechanic grinned.
“Brother-man.” the old black wolf began nobly, “I done fought a good many decades for a proper democratic republic to be brought back to this here land. But I’m not gonna lie: it feels good to be king of this. Nice house, one hot queen, a whole brood to our name. Shit man, I think you and Adam got it right on keeping me off-base. Didn’t realize I had so much to savor until right now.”
“Least the crowns come cheap.” Eric nodded, cocking his head to the beer can.
“Fuck the crowns, we rock felts round here.”
From beneath his seat came his curved, broad-brimmed white hat from the lawman days. The second he chucked it on his head, sat up straight and took a mighty swig from his stein, he looked like a young man all over again.
“Hail to the King,” Eric nodded and matched him drink for drink for the next hour. An hour filled with more tales of the good old days, more about the business of the war, more about the bullshit they loved. And by the end of their hanging out, one thing became crystal clear: both would wind up on the throne before the night was over.