"Farm boy!"
Fourteeen-year-old Westley looked up from his wood chopping. What could Buttercup possibly want this time, he wondered as he made his way over to the stable. The slim, blond figure was standing there, waiting for him.
Their eyes locked, and all Westley could think of was how very very very beautiful she was.
"Farm boy," Buttercup said imperiously. "Fetch me a glass of water. I'm tired after that long ride."
And truly beautiful too, with her cheeks flushed and her hair windswept, Westley wanted to add.
But he didn't.
"As you wish."