Chapter: Orange
Rating: K in this chapter.
Edged in shadow and awash in candlelight, even the king's apartments could appear cozy. Zahir curled up on a chair, listening to the constant scratching of Jon's quill, absently working grease into his tack. The earthy smell and the feel of the supple leather in his hands comforted him, all blending together in a rhythm that seemed too domestic for the life of the king's squire.
"Do you ever stop working?" he queried, voice slightly slurred with lack of sleep.
Jon smiled, pulling out a new feather and a trimming knife. He shaped the quill with swift, practiced strokes, his ink-stained fingers testing the point before continuing with his writing.
"Not really," he replied.