Sir Osis

The thrush and the castle alike welcomed the morning. It was one of those one rare and precious days of spring with neither rain nor snow, insect pests nor incessant clamor of a migratory flock, biting frost nor unbearable heat.
No, it was none of these things. It was a thing of beauty and a sight to behold, and as usual, Sir Osis of the Liver hated it anyway. When most laborers had already been working for several hours, Sir Osis was just rolling out of his bed.
As he spent the next hour eating breakfast and nursing his head in silence, he reflected on what he could do that day. He could go around the village and watch for criminals, old ladies whose cats insisted upon climbing trees they had no intention of descending, and such, or he could stay home and train or take care of some business…or perhaps lie in bed some more.