- Messages
- 169
- Character Biography
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"You sure about this?"
A pause. "Should it matter?"
Monroe fixed the squire with knitted brows, a frown many knew her to sport. All it did in this situation was make the squire doubt their idea of questioning the dawnling's decision.
And still, that momentary conscience did nothing against what they said next.
"Yes it should, Syr Cathmore." He looked uneasy saying it. "I mean to say... not many know what happened, but I can tell going back would be a hard experience to mull over..."
Monroe's arms shifted to cross over her chest, and even as she sat across from this squire who joined her table outside in the sunshine without invitation, she made the poor young man cower under her withering gaze. "I am not going alone." She argued back with a near bark, and the squire squirmed and gave her a sheepish smile. He fumbled some apologies, all of which was a jumbled mess of words strung together, and he took his leave.
She did not remember his name, which was no shock when Monroe referred to them all as what they were: squires. Names did not stick until they were Sworn in, and Monroe knew they were ready for meaner things.
Drowning her thoughts with the last of her drink, she sagged her shoulders in defeat when she could not convince herself she had told truth. A half-truth. No, she would not be alone on her travels, but Monroe had not exactly approached anyone to see if they were up for the two week long travel to somewhere on the coast below the Reach. First, her eyes scanned the vicinity of the area outside the Knoll, where nearly every table was taken up by brothers and sisters in arms.
Who would put up with Syr Meanroe for two weeks to help set up an outpost in her ancestral home called Cathmore?
A pause. "Should it matter?"
Monroe fixed the squire with knitted brows, a frown many knew her to sport. All it did in this situation was make the squire doubt their idea of questioning the dawnling's decision.
And still, that momentary conscience did nothing against what they said next.
"Yes it should, Syr Cathmore." He looked uneasy saying it. "I mean to say... not many know what happened, but I can tell going back would be a hard experience to mull over..."
Monroe's arms shifted to cross over her chest, and even as she sat across from this squire who joined her table outside in the sunshine without invitation, she made the poor young man cower under her withering gaze. "I am not going alone." She argued back with a near bark, and the squire squirmed and gave her a sheepish smile. He fumbled some apologies, all of which was a jumbled mess of words strung together, and he took his leave.
She did not remember his name, which was no shock when Monroe referred to them all as what they were: squires. Names did not stick until they were Sworn in, and Monroe knew they were ready for meaner things.
Drowning her thoughts with the last of her drink, she sagged her shoulders in defeat when she could not convince herself she had told truth. A half-truth. No, she would not be alone on her travels, but Monroe had not exactly approached anyone to see if they were up for the two week long travel to somewhere on the coast below the Reach. First, her eyes scanned the vicinity of the area outside the Knoll, where nearly every table was taken up by brothers and sisters in arms.
Who would put up with Syr Meanroe for two weeks to help set up an outpost in her ancestral home called Cathmore?