Private Tales Scorched Earth

There was a reason she loved him. Fife flashed a smile back at Raigryn that was much less subtle. She took advantage of Romelia's surprise and her silly flutter of joy to slip free. Taking up Socks' reins from Masselin, she made a show of patting the slate hanging from her belt. She came ready to talk for herself this time.

"Of course. A girl and her pony!" Romelia laughed. She just as eagerly took Raigryn's arm and steered him toward the front of the house. "An affection I know well. When I was a young lady, younger still than Miss Fife, my father gave me a Vanterbred mare. A liver chestnut. Stunning creature! I was so taken with her that I spent day in and day out caring for her: brushing, combing, washing, picking, braiding, feeding. I could hardly be parted from her for my lessons…"

Abandoning Raigryn to Romelia, Fife walked with Masselin to the stables. They both gave sympathetic looks over their shoulders as Romelia.

"Mother is a harmless flirt," Masselin laughed as he led Dusty through the barn door. "I don't think you are in danger of her stealing him away. He seems very attached to you. Did you see the way he swooped in to save you?"

He winked. Fife blushed, which only stirred up her brother's laughter. Raigryn hadn't been so swift to save her from Romelia's extensive plans the other night...

"Come on, then. Let's see this slate in action. I know Socks, your pony, but tell me about this lazy red creature."

Between the slate and Masselin's seemingly endless patience, Fife was able to acquaint him with their horses. She glowed with pride when he complimented the care she had given them. In return, Masselin made suggestions from his profession for better hoof care on their journeys and promised to give her a lesson or two during their stay in Oban. She gladly accepted, always eager to learn new things and doubly interested where it involved caring for her horse and pony.

Fife smiled freely. This was the happiest she could remember being for a long time. She and Raigryn were rebuilding the bridge damaged by hostile captivity, their minds were on a slow but steady mend, and she had friends -- family -- and they were talking about horses.

Masselin seemed just as eager to have time alone with Fife as she was. They were parked on a bench in the open walkway of the stables, just outside of Dusty and Socks' shared stall. The steeds were munching noisily and contentedly at hay, and the sound of her chalk on the slate added to the cozy silence between Masselin's questions and remarks.

"Raigryn got him for you? Not for you, but for you to ride?" he corrected himself by Fife's insistent scratching of underlines on key words to that amendment. "Initially, perhaps. Was he always this doting?"

Fife threw him a sharp smirk. He tipped his head as she cleaned the slate with her sleeve and started a new line. All the while she wore a mischievous grin.

No. He thought I was a boy when we met.

"He thought you were a boy?!" Masselin cackled. "How? You're a small thing, but you are pretty obviously a girl, Fife." Letting the writing implements rest in her lap, Fife ruffled her brows to make them more messy, adjusted her posture to better hide the diminutive swell of her chest, and rubbed some dust on her face. He watched, brows rising, then leaned back to take it all in.

"Alright, fair. I guess if I didn’t know you I might have believed it, too," he laughed, shaking his head. "How long did he think you were a boy? And I hope he didn't start doting like this when he was under that assumption." He snickered as Fife thumped his shoulder. "Okay, so he didn't. But how long have you two been together?"

Together. That word made her stomach feel sick like she'd had too much cake. Smiling fondly to herself, Fife wiped the dust from her cheeks and took up the chalk once more.

We met over a year and a half ago. I botched a robbery. He felt me use magic. Raigryn trained me. Did not turn me in to the guard.

Masselin waited for her to write, and read with a growing smile when she finally turned it for him to read. Writing Raigryn's name made her irrationally happy.

"Did you really? Who were you robbing when he caught you?"

Fife blushed and sheepishly smudged the text to write over it. Raigryn.

Masselin cackled with laughter, the long ribbon of his red hair falling over his shoulder. Fife pursed her lips and frowned.

"Oh, I'm sorry kid. That's grand. He must be a very patient man -- more patient than me." He shook his head. "You're lucky. Most others would have had a finger or your hand pinned to the walls as a warning. What were you doing trying to rob him in the first place?"

Looking rather insulted by his amusement, Fife scrubbed the slate clean with her sleeve.

Trying to get in with the Blue Eye gang.

"The Blue Eye? Never heard of them."

Replaced the River brothers, she tacked on under the other lines. Masselin crossed his arms and leaned back against the barn wall. He gave a grunt of distaste.

"Nobody good could have filled that void. Why him? Couldn't you tell that he was a mage?"

Fife looked guilty.

Looked like an old scholar. Easy picking. I did not know he was a mage. I did not know my magic was magic.

"I suppose you found out the hard way that was not the case?" Masselin was doing a better job not laughing at her this time, but poorly hid his grin behind his hand as he stroked his beard. Fide sighed and nodded, but smiled back. "So how long did Raigryn think you were a boy? Was he upset?"

She shook her head. Six months? He was surprised, not mad. Understanding. Always.

"I would say so," he agreed with a smile of his own. "And the rest, I assume, came with time?"

Fife smiled brighter and nodded once more.

"I'm happy for you, kid. I'm looking forward to hearing more about the two of you and your travels. I have so many questions. Don't worry," he added, rising. "I will corner him for some of them, really spread the embarrassment between you both."

He winked. Fife huffed.

When the pair entered the house a little while later, they were greeted by Romelia's very energetic voice carrying down the hall. Fife's head was on a swivel this time as she followed her brother, memorizing the path from the side door to the parlor. It was the same sitting room from the other night, but the daylight made it look very different.

"...between them they might be able to read a dinner invitation. I never did like it. I thought there was no reason I shouldn't be as capable as my brothers and my parents entertained my independence -- much to their chagrin, because it would be that foolhardy stubbornness that got me married to a middle class farrier instead of some merchant lord." She giggled deviously.

Romelia turned in her chair to watch the pair enter.

"My dears, there you are!" She stood to come around and usher them both into the room. "My goodness, did you muck the stalls? Look at you." Even her scolds sounded good-natured. Picking straw out of Fife's hair, she turned her loose.

Fife reached out and touched Raigryn's hand with an affectionate smile as she sat down beside him. There were snacks on the low table in front of him, and she plucked one up from the tray. It was some kind of flaky pastry thing with a sweet and tart berry something in the middle. It was a good thing she didn't need her mouth to talk because it was rather chewy.

"Have you been terrorizing Raigryn while we've been busy?" Masselin teased as he bent to kiss his mother's cheek before going to sit down as well.

"I have not! I was asking after his trade as a scribe and we got off on a tangent about women learning to read and write here in Oban."

Fife slid Raigryn a sidelong glance. It sounded like a much longer tangent than that when they'd come in. She gave him a brief sign of apology, but was grinning.

Of course Romelia was a gossip. A well-meaning one, perhaps, but that made two she knew. Raigryn must have been eating that up; it had been a while since they'd had any good gossip in their travels.

He also must be enjoying being the antagonist because he immediately threw Fife right back under the cart he jad previously saved her from. She looked sharply toward him, then Masselin, who was once again stroking his sparse beard and looking elsewhere to hide a smirk.

"Oh, yes! I received word from Yvain this morning, and she said she would love to meet you! We have planned a lovely luncheon and promenade for tomorrow in the palace gardens. Yvain and Avril will both be coming to meet you. Isn't that wonderful? I'm sorry, but it is a girls only day. Your dashing Raigryn must stay behind, but I'm confident Masselin can keep him good company."

"Excellent company. I would not want Fife to miss out on the girls only day." He grinned conspiratorially at Raigryn. "I've some business around town tomorrow afternoon, but you are, of course, free to join me for lunch."

Fife was looking far less excited about this. She glanced between Raigryn and Masselin, finding no quarter.

"We shall leave you gentlemen to make your own plans." Romelia stood with a rustle of her full skirts and smoothed out the front of her gown. "My dear Fife, let us go. Ellen and Lila have pulled out some dresses that we think can be taken in to fit you rather nicely. Come along! Don't be shy. I insist!"

And insist she did. Fife had enough time to look pleadingly toward Raigryn before Romelia's arm looped with hers and steered her toward the hall. The matron was already going on about muslin and calico and shoes and lace and hems and corsets, her voice fading as the two women made their way upstairs.

Masselin was left grinning behind his hand. Finally his gaze shifted back from the hall door and settled on Raigryn seated across from him.

"Is Fife always this polite?" he laughed. "She is so different from the little girl we found. It is a good change, but I find it hard to believe."

Masselin laughed.

"I'm glad she is not too different." There was a peaceful warmth to his tone. "I mean, of course she is different. She's all grown up -- even if there hasn't been much vertical growth since I saw her last."

Giving the hallway a cautious look, he leaned forwards in his seat, propped his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together.

"I don't think I need to tell you that she has a wicked little temper. She comes around quickly, though. Faster if you ply her with food. I never could stay mad at her, no matter how poorly she behaved."

His hazel eyes were bright in the morning light through the parlor windows. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice.

"We are supposed to be making our own plans, but I'll be honest, I haven't the first idea how to entertain. That is my mother's specialty, not mine. You are welcome to accompany me, but only if it will not bore you."

He did his best not to laugh too much at Raigryn's expense and saved any comments or judgement.

"Of course. I can show you the cellar and you can have your pick. Mother keeps it well stocked and my brother, Ben, owns a vinyard. He is always bringing in something." He rose from his seat and gestured to the hall. "Do you play any cards? Halma? Chess? I'll warn you that I am bad at all of them."

Masselin led Raigryn on a brief tour of their small cellar. It served a dual purpose as a root cellar, one wall as full of dried and preserved food as the other wall was stacked just as fully with wine and liquor. He proudly pointed out his brother's label and let Raigryn pick a whisky to his liking.

Returning to the parlor, he struck up a casual conversation over a nip and a game. He asked where he had come from, his family's vocation, and where he learned to be a scribe and mage. Masselin was not prying or suspicious, accepting any of his answers without a second thought and breezing on. There was an air of curiosity about him, but he was not leading into anything, nor did he delve into his and Fife's shared history. And, as he had warned Raigryn, he was not good at their games.

They only had an hour or so to themselves before there was a commotion in the hall. Romelia's silly laugh and chirpy voice echoed down the stairs a few moments before footsteps came thereafter. Setting down his glass, Masselin seemed to abandon all interest in the game to turn and watch the doorway, then stood to greet the ladies.

Romelia pranced in first, clasping her hands in delight, then half turned to present Fife, who entered much more slowly. Masselin's mother had been correct about the color. The dusky blue satin made Fife's mousy brown hair appear dark and warm, and made her gray eyes as clear and colorless as silver. Romelia had also been correct about the fit. With some minor adjustments, it suited Fife as well as if it had been made for her. Fitted with a short waist over a bodice, the modest swell of her chest peeked out of a kerchief tucked into the square neckline. The high waist, long sleeves, and floor-length skirt gave her a little more height. It was all very fitted in the chest and arms, and nowhere near ideal for maneuvering, but very good for looking pretty.

Fife glanced nervously from Romelia and Masselin to Raigryn before she smiled. She was not as uncomfortable as she had been at first, stripped down to a chemise and measured and cinched into a bodice. Romelia had brushed out her braid and put her hair up with twists and pins, plucked her eyebrows, pinched her cheeks, and filed her nails. Fife now had a much better understanding why the horses sometimes got so agitated while she groomed them.

"Doesn't she look marvelous?" Romelia tweeted. Masselin grinned.

"Hard to mistake you for a boy now," he teased. Fife threw him a sharp glare.

"Hush, Masselin. Do not tease her!" His mother swatted at him, then waved Fife toward Raigryn. "Go show it off, child."

Gladly. Fife nodded and stepped hurriedly past them to approach Raigryn. She was all smiles, though there was a nervous undercurrent, a slip of color that ran parallel to her excitement. Making a gesture to all of her, she held her hands out in presentation for his assessment.

She looked lovely. It was one thing when Romelia and Ellen said it. When Raigryn said it, however, her whole body tingled. Her pulse staggered drunkenly and she somehow found more smile as she gook hia hand. The tone, his smile, the way his eyes followed her…

Fife’s fingers nervously brushed over her exposed neck and color blazed across her cheeks and ears -- the scarlet bright all the way down to the tucked kerchief. Romelia had done the work; she hadn't done anything but smile and nod. Looking in the hand mirror, she had felt more than a little like a fraud.

Hearing Raigryn say it made it more okay. Fife was fine with this bias.

Shaking her head gently, she raised her hand from her neck to argue. She didn't care what others thought. How he looked had no bearing on his worth. She paused when he mentioned dancing and her expression faltered in surprise.

Dancing? When she smiled again, it was with giddy abandon. She had told him a long time ago that she wanted to dance with him. It was a small, silly thing, but such were most desires.

"Dancing?" From where she had been admiring the couple, Romelia perked up and broke up their private moment. "Does Fife not know how to dance?" She sounded appalled by the suggestion.

Glancing over her shoulder, Fife shook her head. Romelia expressed her dismay with a hand to her breast.

"Well that must be remedied at once! And if you are in need of something finer to wear, Raigryn, you are near my dear late Franklin's size."

"Mother, you cannot dress everyone," Masselin interjected before she could say anything more. His mother huffed.

"Well you are too tall for them and they are serving no purpose to anyone, only feeding moths. I insist."

Fife nodded enthusiastically and smirked up at Raigryn, feeding Romelia's idea. As if it needed anything beyond her insistence to be so. Payback. If she was going to be fitted and plucked to be pretty for gods-knew-what, he could have some of the same.

Besides, she had liked how he looked in his finery on the single occasion that had called for it. While his appearance did not measure his worth, it could be a treat not unlike their high scale inn and meals.

He remembered. That, more than anything else, made her happy. Fife shook her head, only a moment of sadness chasing into her eyes before he turned ro Romelia -- who, in true colors, would not be dissuaded from her goal. Her Joy was infectious, making it difficult for Fife's melancholy to take hold.

"It would not trouble me at all! You said yourself that you should match her fine dress, and I must insist. Oban is full of all sorts of diversions. You should have no trouble at all finding something to warrant the finery."

Fife turned wide, pleading gray eyes up at Raigryn and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. She needed no signs and no gestures to beg him to consider Romelia's offer. Masselin shook his head.

"We shouldnt have left you two alone to scheme," he snickered.

"I did not scheme anything! You should accompany them. I can think of a number of young ladies who would take pleasure in the opportunity to dance with you. Or, perhaps, your mystery lady might at last reveal herself?"

Romelia looked proud of herself and it was Masselin's turn to blush. If there had been any familial link between him and Fife, it would have been proven by how they wore the same bright red color when they were embarrassed.

Seeing that she had won, Romelia (who Fife imagined was accustomed to winning) relented. Fife watched as she turned her attention from her flustered son back to her guest. Raigryn, whether out of natural charm or mercy, earned a grateful glance from Masselin as well.

"Why, of course! Leave it to me, and the two of you will have your pick. Now, Fife, my dear -- come and let us sit and have tea."

Romelia bustled toward the small sitting area where she was apparently taking tea. Fife looked after her reluctantly before smiling at Raigryn. She wanted more of his attention, but she didn't want to embarrass herself with Romelia's family, either. Nor did she want to embarrass herself in front of Raigryn. Their lives had followed strange and different roads, and she was reminded that manners and social graces had once been a daily part of his life. With one final squeeze of his hand, Fife turned to her newest tutor for yet another lesson.

Romelia was not a bad teacher. The shrill tone of her voice in disapproval was like the whine of a gnat, and it worked as well as any of Aretta's warning thwacks to adjust Fife's behavior. She showed her how to sit like a lady, what the various dishes and saucers and cups and utensils were for, even how to drink her tea. As if that could be done wrong.

Fife did it wrong. She did most of the things wrong the first time. At the very least, Romelia was kind and understanding. Lila and Ellen both made cameos in Fife's brief, thorough education on table manners and even how to walk and greet others on their promenade.

In the meantime, Masselin took one look at Fife's reddened ears and conveniently thought to show Raigryn the stables and his horses and the forge. He was very good at coming up with things to talk about, even if his own world and experiences were not nearly as broad as Raigryn's. He was very well spoken for a man who had spent the first half of his life as a fisherman's son, and managed to kill enough time with idle talk and a lazy stroll that when they returned, they caught the tail end of Romelia's lessons.

"Very good. Ah, you're so light on your feet, child! You shall be a marvelous dancer. I am certain of it." She patted Fife's hands. Hearing the creak of floorboards, she turned to the men with a delighted, girlish giggle.

"I'm finished with your Fife now, Raigryn. You were right; she is a very quick learner. She has nothing to fret."

Any more permission to escape was unnecessary. Fife plodded over to Raigryn without much of the poise she had just put on for Romelia's sake. Masselin went to sit with his mother and Fife took Raigryn's hand, guiding him to sit beside her on the couch.

Look like this is very important, she instructed him with a small smile. I missed you. Enough lessons. I feel… silly, Fife spelled with a disgruntled shake of her hand. I feel like a rat dressed up like a princess.

She bit back a laugh, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder at the Smiths. Fife instead gestured to the dress.

Do you like it? Really?

Her deep gray gaze lingered on where her hands twined in her lap before flitting up to his. For all her attempts to shrug off her insecurity, there was no hiding the anxious undercurrent of her mood.

His stern reply caught her well of guard. Raigryn's mind flashed with the fiery hues of Fury and the dark streaks of Misery. Lifting her gaze once more, the nervous smile slid from her face. She had done something very wrong to elicit that kind of emotion in general – and especially now when his moods were still muted and reserved.

She watched his hands with a confused crease in her brow. Fife had thought it a good joke, calling back to her days on the streets, small and scrappy and silent. It was obvious that Raigryn was not equally amused by the comparison. Quite the contrary, he seemed rather mad about it.

She nodded obediently. If it was that important to him, then she wouldn't. Caught off guard as she was, she couldn't form any argument or questions to discuss it. Letting it go for now seemed the smartest course.

Which Raigryn must have also concluded as he paved forward.

Fife's hand reflexively rose to lie over his when it came to rest on her shoulder. She met his eyes with a confused smile but nodded. An important secret? What on Arethil could he have thought of just now that could be important? She was suddenly as nervous again as she had been before seeing him in the dress.

What secret? she asked, as if that might convince him to tell it to her sooner.

There was something unbearably cute about him throwing out the idea of a private stroll to confer this nugget of wisdom. It wasn't the advice or his gentle reassurance of her insecurities that made her pulse feel light and her chest ache as if tightening in a heaving sob. It was seeing Raigryn being so authentically Raigryn.

Everything about the moment coalesced into a singular feeling and Fife looked up at him like he had built the world for her. She took his hand tightly into hers.

Fife glanced back toward Romelia and Masselin. The pair were, quite conveniently, turned away from them. She bit her lip and shuffled closer to Raigryn on the couch, her skirts rustling as they bunched up between them.

Continuing to hold his hand tightly in one hand, she reached up with the other to turn his chin toward her. She craned her neck and leaned in to light a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Thank you, she replied simply as she settled back.

A bump in the road jostled the carriage and Fife's head knocked against the wall. She started awake and looked nervously toward Romelia, who was smiling pleasantly to herself as she surveyed the passing buildings. If Romelia had noticed her brief doze, she offered no sign of it. Fife shifted to sit more upright, checked that the slate was still in her lap, and folded her hands atop it.

It had been a long night. When Romelia and Ellen had shown them to their rooms, Fife had not wanted to seem ungrateful. Housed in quarters that were tall and spacious. There was a vanity, a wardrobe, and a bed. The walls were draped with tapestries of gardens and magical beasts to ward off drafts and great, thick curtains were drawn across the windows to the same effect.

It was nice. She didn't have words or names for the things that she was invited to use at her leisure. It would be safe and warm and private – three things she had not had much of in a long while.

Yet it lacked one very important feature: Raigryn.

She'd tossed and turned, restless in a pitiful way. Fife had stubbornly fought to sleep on her own – to prove something to no one but herself. Raigryn was fine, put up down the hall in a room no less warm and comfortable as her own. He didn't need her now like he had a week ago. She was capable of sleeping on her own.

When her eyes opened to the darkness of the unfamiliar room, the silence was too loud. Raigryn's steady breathing was not there to remind her that they were safe. There was only the cold, empty expanse of blankets beside her.

It was her own fault, then, that she rested little. This was not an unfamiliar condition; Fife rose for the day's agenda with silent resolve. It couldn't be that hard, right? How daunting could a walk with women be?

"Ah, here we are," Romelia trilled. The matron shifted excitedly and Fife leaned to peer out the carriage window for herself.

Nobody had been exaggerating when they had described the gardens to her. It wasn't the same awesome, grand sort of beauty like the many places Raigryn had shown her, but beautiful nonetheless.

Fife carried a basket as Romelia guided her down the widest path. It was still early spring, yet half of the garden was in bloom. Pinks, whites, and yellows dominated the scenery. Foliage swelled over the edge of paths and literally everywhere one looked could be described as magical.

Romelia departed from the path to tramp across the green toward a pair of women seated on a blanket. Fife shivered with nerves as they turned to see who was coming.

Two of the women were unmistakably Romelia's daughters. Their hair, the color of honey or wheat, and they shared very similar, very pretty features. One was clearly older; there was not a sharp angle to be found on her soft figure and she had lovely dark eyes, round and gentle as a doe's. The other was thin and petite, and her eyes were as blue as the clear skies overhead.

The third (she could only assume from the paintings in the hall) took after her father. Tall even when seated, she was as regal as a heron. Her hair was a darker brown than Fife's but had a coppery gleam in the sunlight, and her eyes were the same startling pale blue as Romelia's.

The youngest of the blondes held a bundle of infant. Four other young children were playing nearby. They squealed happily, still oblivious to Romelia's arrival.

"My darlings!" Romelia called. She waved her hand at them and (to Fife's horror) the older blonde waved back with the same giddy enthusiasm.

"Mama!"

All three rose and Romelia shuffled toward them with quick little steps, her arms extended until they closed around the first. At this point the children had noticed and, with a chorus of little voices, came running to greet their grandmother. They all chattered like hens in greeting. Fife kept a polite distance to avoid the hugging.

"Winnie, what a surprise to see you here! You did not have to come, my dear. How are you feeling? Oh! He is so precious. Let me look at him. Oh, he has your father's nose!"

It went on like this for what must have been a full minute. Romelia hadn't stopped talking, but finally turned to hold out a hand to Fife and ushered her closer. "Don't be shy, dear."

Fife took the hand she offered and more or less permitted herself to be drawn into the group.

"Girls, this is Fife. Fife, these are my daughters: Yvain, Avril, and Winnie."

There was no explanation along with her introduction. News must have traveled fast in this family. Her eyes swept across the trio as they were introduced. She made an honest attempt at a polite curtsy, but that felt impersonal. Smiling and waving as she straightened felt much more natural.

"How lovely to finally meet you," chimed Yvain. She clearly took after her mother in more than just appearance. She crowded Fife's personal space to clasp her hand tightly. "Masselin has spoken of you often over the years. I feel as though I already know you."

That was a terrifying idea. Fife nodded and she strained a smile, leaning gently away from Yvain. Her eyes tracked the little ones as they jostled around them. A lot was happening at once. Masselin had had the good sense to warn her that there would be lots of this. The air was illuminated with the bubbly essence of happiness and excitement. It was evident how deeply this family loved each other from only a few moments in their company.

"Come have a seat with us while mama has the children distracted, Fife." Avril laid a long hand on Yvain's shoulder. Her stoic features smoothed into a very handsome smile and she guided her sister to provide Fife with more breathing room.

Fife quickly acclimated to the trio of sisters. Yvain and Winnie were variations of their mother in every way possible. They were bubbly and friendly, and their voices carried easily. The younger, Winnie, was very eager to be Fife's friend, as they were very close in age. Avril was the counterbalance to all three. She spoke rarely though seemed more aware of Fife's comfort and boundaries. Her manner was so checked that even her mind was… quiet. She was steady and calm, and she blanketed the mood when it began to spike too sharply.

Her favorite part of the day, however, was the children. They ranged in age from… Well, their mothers had told her their ages but that meant absolutely nothing to Fife. She didn't know what the difference between a three-year-old and a five-year-old was. The term "toddler" was both vague and perfectly fitting; the two children in that category certainly toddled around. Living alone and isolated from other kids since she was a kid herself, Fife was nervous to engage with them. She didn't know how to play their games (completely foreign to the ones she had played in Elbion years ago). She couldn't talk to them.

She worried for nothing. The children soared over the language barrier, adapting much easier to Fife's company than the adults, who were actively conscious of her disability. The women corrected themselves too much. They apologized a lot.

The day went well regardless. Afterward, the carriage ride home took far too long. It was Romelia's turn to nod off while Fife sat at the edge of her seat in anticipation. It was all she could do to remain inside the vehicle until it was stopped in the courtyard before jumping out. Then it was agony to wait politely for Romelia to amble into the house.

Except Raigryn and Masselin were not in the house. On Romelia's recommendation, Fife went bustling out to the stables.

In her eagerness she had not heard the clang of the hammer and anvil. Now she heard it like a bell tolling the hour. She followed the sound, her Joy bubbling over just a little too much to be properly contained. Minding her dress, she bounced into Masselin's workshop.

By contrast, she was as clean and shiny as a new bloom in the forge. Masselin looked more like himself here, grimy and sweaty and smiling. An internal conflict between insecurity and comfort waged, but Fife ignored it. Her brother was the last person she needed to feel out of place around; he surely understood the feeling from his own experiences.

While she was happy to see Masselin, he was not, in fact, who she was primarily looking for. Her fleeting guilt was assuaged by his honest good company, a mind clear of resentment as he pointed her in the right direction.

She frowned in confusion at the names provided. A tip of her head asked the question clearly enough. Masselin only smiled and shook his head.

"You'll see."

Fife knew a losing battle when she saw it. She waved jovially, conceding to find out when she was meant to find out, and trotted off to find Raigryn.

He was just around a corner, looking up at the sky. She whistled his name but didn't slow her approach. Bouncing to a stop beside him, she cast a curious glance upward. Her hand gestured a general question of what? As it finished, her hand sought out his, her fingers slipping against his palm.

Fife nodded yes. Winny, she spelled. Close enough guess, since she hadn't seen it written. It was an odd question from nowhere, but she assumed it was relevant. How, she had no idea, but surely he didn't know that out of thin air. It was convenient, because it was near what she was so excited to tell him anyhow.

Yet even Raigryn was informed on something she wasn't. Of course she was impressed that someone they were so closely associated with was a griffin rider. She wouldn't have to pretend much. What she failed to understand was how that added up right now.

A dilemma Fife did not have to grapple with for long. Raigryn did not get to finish his proposal of a walk before "this" began. She startled easily and jumped closer to Raigryn when she heard the screech. Her gray eyes widened as they darted skyward, seeing the shadow only as it began to grow larger.

Her awe was not put upon; she was already basking in the bubbly warmth of Joy in her mood, and the approach of thr magnificent animal only heightened it. The griffin and rider whooshed overhead. Fife was too engrossed by the spectacle to give much mind to whether or not it was proper that the winter threw up her skirts around her knees. She marveled at the show, pedaling back and forth on the balls of her feet and holding up Raigryn's hand with hers as she clutched them to her breast.

Coming here? she asked. Her fingers could hardly move fast enough. There was no disguising her smile or the way her excitement was coming off in waves. She would try to tamp it down later. Right now she was so excited she was on yhe verge of involuntary tears.

Later, as it it so often turned out, was not a luxury she had much of. Fife reeled in her happiness enough to take Raigryn seriously. She had not considered what he had done today in her absence. A lot, it would seem. Or not much at all. He still tired so easily, and they had been at this social thing quite a bit this week.

She met his eye and smiled more gently with a single resolute nod. She understood, and he didn't need to say anything more. They both could use a day to themselves. This was twice he had suggested taking a walk; he didn't badger and rarely brought things up twice unless it was important. She would meet him halfway and make sure he got that walk.

And then Raigryn was back to being his dry self. Fife snickered behind a hand and turned to watch the griffin and rider approach. She had the presence now to think of her appearance and flicked at her skirts, adjusted the kerchief tucked into her neckline, and ran a hand over her hair. Presentable as she had ever be.

What a guest to make herself ready for, too. She didn't even bother looking at the man astride the griffin's back, but rather only had eyes for the creature itself. Part of her felt guilty for betraying Socks with her admiration. The pony wouldn't know. She'd pay him some special attention later to make up for it, for the sake of her conscience. She amused herself drawing thin lines of comparison between Raigryn and Socks.