- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
"Maybe with some deep brown accents?" Anton was unable to resist throwing a request for one of Leondeal's colors into the mix as he settled in place beside Anne at the table.
Anton took her refusal of wine as a complement. In his mind it was a sign she respected his wits enough to want to keep her own about her. This was a game after all, one in which each side desired to come out with the upper hand, and each knew it. But Anton did not believe Anne was quite as good as she believed herself to be. Not when her own nobles noticed and called her on her strange behavior. He learned something then and there, she must sample the vineyard goods more often than even she realized.
"Then your nose is better than mine," Anton chuckled finding the need to have two cents to put in when the subject turned to dessert, "And I'm sure that if your cooks hear even a hint of you wishing for dessert they will bring it out presently. Your staff is that well trained." The words were out of his mouth in completely obliviousness to the fiasco Dotty had nearly caused, leaving those who had both noticed and heard the exchange to raise their eyebrows.
Anton, however, would have stated the words regardless of what he had seen or failed to see. He wanted to reassure his future bride that her people would be well cared for after their pending nuptials. Not that he actually cared.
The sun had set hastily in a mountain crested horizon before the traveling party of knights reached the destination known as "the Traveler's Rest" a full six hours ahead of the usual schedule. It was not their final destination, mealy a point on the road, but it was a place where they could get a hot bowel of stew, a fresh horse, and an hour or two's rest if they were lucky.
"Stretch your legs, get some food, lay down for a bit if you need," Greagor barked as he dismounted. "I'll see the "Keep" about fresh animals. I hope you all rode palace stock, No guarantee on how long it'll take us to get back this way."
Nicoli found he was grateful for that very thing, as he stripped his horse if its saddle and gear for placement on another. Red was safe at home, with Anne . . . gods but he missed her! Anne. Her, the woman, not her body, though that was certainly enjoyable too. He missed her smile, her laugh, her stories, the way she patiently taught him the kingdom history, the way she looked when she slept bathed by moonlight . . .
"Not weary of the road already?" one of the men laughed tossing him a canteen.
Nicoli gave a rueful smile as he caught it and drank deeply. "No," he answered wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Just realizing how lucky I've been to sleep in a proper bed these past weeks."
"An hour of soft hay here, cold saddle later," the man agreed.
It was then that Greagor returned announcing that inside they were already dishing out their night's dinner while the "Keep" was preparing lanterns for the night's march and the stablemen readied fresh mounts.
"If we don't push them, the animals will last the night and we'll be at the "Hermit's lodge" come sunup," Greagor announced. Nicoli only sighed. As much with relief that they were on their advanced schedule, as with longing for home.
