Recent content by Quinton

Why...why did they...forget me..? Why was I abandoned and left by my own parents? Like her question, maybe, there was no answer. Not yet, at least. In time, who could say for either person? At the moment, they just embraced, shared one another's pain in silence despite the rain that...

It wasn’t the rain. They were safe from getting wet here under the roof of the stables. There was no storm waging, not so as to disturb the horses. They didn’t even whinny. No one whined, it was quiet, but there was no denying the tears that twisted down the girl’s cheeks in rivulets. She didn’t...

Had the quiet not have been broken that moment, had Maranae not have spoken, said something, anything, then Quinton just might have spent the rest of the night with his gaze into the rain. Time might have ended for him, as surely as music did, as one song shifted into the next one in that tavern...

“What in the lowest heavens!?” Quinton spoke low to himself, all alone in his humble little barrel, having no clue as to what was next to his own presence. Hopefully it’s the blasted chef! I’m hungry! And there’s no fresh fish in this insufferable darkness! Though, the poor bloke didn’t even...

Unexpected. The hand. The moment. The journey. This was, for all intents and purposes, an unexpected journey. Ever since the tavern, their encounter, arguably random, yes, merely a coincidence. Chance at its best. Fateful? Perhaps, there at Quinton’s table, where he met a girl, tall as a woman...

Maranae… Quinton repeated the name, sounding it out in his mind just in case he butchered it between his lips and she ruined him with her fist for it. Mara…nae… Like marmalade? Maybe…Mar…anae…like Mare-On-Aye... Anyway… “It’s a pretty name, my lady.” Yes. She was a lady to him in comparison to...

As she visibly jerked her hand back, admittedly, Quinton had half-expected the gesture. In fact, how dare he even attempt it? He stiffened, he gulped back dread, frightened. The nerve of him! Oh, sure, he was only trying to console the young woman, the tall girl, but he made a mistake at that...

Do not touch her. Her words rang out like a thousand bells, a million chimes, and never mind the violin or the musicians of the tavern whence they had both escaped. No, this environment was different, here in the budding rain. It began as a drizzle, forget the fiddle, but like slow strings it...

She turned, and he was there to see. To witness her visage as given to him. Such a small creature. Ironic. For she was taller than him—but not older. Was he much different in comparison? Was there any wisdom within him? He might call her a child but, in the end, what was the age difference...

“Did you enjoy it?” Quinton looked up at his newfound companion, expectant of a response any moment; only, when he looked up and when he spoke, when he lifted his cup to his lips for a delicious sip, he found no companion in his presence. No, she slipped away from him as quickly as the wind...

Quinton had expected that his partner might not keep up with him for the entirety of their dance, however not once had she let him down by turning around and escaping the clutches of this performance. Rather, she held her ground, stayed the duration, even if she might have spun him a wee bit too...

In hindsight Quinton might have decided not to beckon his partner for her to spin him when one considered what happened next but whatever. This was the fun of it. He had said as much to his companion. It was merriment! Even accidents that can and did happen were par for the course, part of the...

Delight. Enjoyment. Happiness. There were other words to describe a dance like this. Excitement. Vibrant. Brightness. Yes, light in wide eyes, and merriment, as dancers just like them laughed. Some go solo. Some dance hand in hand. Some are husband and wife, others are friends, then there’s...

Well, Quinton had definitely expected a less than nimble performance from this tall-as-a-woman but face-of-a-child female. He was positively surprised when she began to move with the grace of a kitten. “That’s it!” He began and ended up with an unrestrained laugh as she danced. She can dance...

Quinton lifted his hand back and pinched his chin at the question. What is a dance? There was suddenly some philosophy to this, as if she had just then prompted a night’s worth of discussion as to what made a dance a dance. What is dance? Never mind a dance. What makes the dance so dancey? For...