Nealan of Queenscove quietly slipped away from his Knight Mistress as she greeted her husband. His three years of service to her thus far had taught him that her reunions with her husband were displays best done in private. He made a quick decision to find his ways to the kitchens to beg food off Old Abigail, who was privately found of her Lady's squires mischievous ways. Squire's work was a demanding task that left the doer hungry. Whistling a merry tune, he took off through the stone hallways.
Old Abigail, the cook, was pleased as ever to see him. She fed him full of dinner rolls and cheese before sending him off on his way. He was just deciding to go have himself a look off the observation tower—the walk up the stairs would serve to make him hungry again for dinner—when he ran into Alianne of Pirate's Swoop.
"Squire Nealan," Aly greeted, lowering her eyelashes a fraction of an inch in a vaguely flirtatious gesture. "I take it you are leaving my dear mother and father to their privacy?"
She would be fifteen, Neal thought. A young woman. "Indeed I am, fair maiden," he acknowledged buoyantly. "In fact, I was about to go about avoiding them at the observation tower. Would you care to join me?" He offered his arm.
"So chivalrous," she commented dryly, but she took his arm anyways. "I will take you up on your offer."
She was much softer than her Knight Mother, he noted to himself, trying to size her up out of the corner of his eye as they walked. Her hair was a shade lighter, and fell loosely down her back. She was in a simple light green dress. Her body, he couldn't help but notice, was trim and curvy. Her nose was quite small and delicate. Her eyes were hazel, flecked generously with green.
They were like meadows, he fancied, full of soft waves of grass on a bright sunshine-y day. Or perhaps they were more like living gems, warm with mirth and her femininity, but still sparkling like gold and emeralds.
As they walked up the steps of the observation tower, Neal felt a poem coming on.
xxx fin xxx