|Breaking Fast with the Freylings|
|Summary:||Rygar and Aron discuss the plans for the upcoming march.|
|Related Logs:||Council of Captains|
|Outskirts of Stonebridge|
|Spreading out from the central field, dozens of pavilions have been pitched pver the grassy expanse of The Green. Ranging from the small field tents of free lances to the sprawling high peaked canopies of the greater houses, with silk banners fluttering proudly from their center stakes, a riot of heraldic splendour siezes the eye. Beyond this noble inner ring are the campsites of the common folk who have journeyed to see the spectacle of tournament. Some have tents, but many others simply gather around one of the dozens of campfires which dot the green at night.|
|04 January 289 A.L.|
The mood of the encampment this morning, though not exactly sombre, is far from jovial; the quiet hanging as dense as the lingering early fog that blankets the area. Already knights and squires are up and about, even as the sunrise only lazily appears on the horizon. Some tend armors, oiling leather and polishing plate. Some hone blades. Some simply enjoy a bland breakfast with comrades around small fires. Within the boundaries of the Haigh camp, there's little to set apart their day from that of any other House. Unless one counts the young lady currently outside the largest of their tents.
Seeming not to much mind the damp and chill of the morn, likely due to the thick woolen cloak about her shoulders and the deep hood settled atop her glossy curls, Ceinlys has apparently set herself the task of readying Ser Aron's destrier. No mean feat, considering the whisperings and wagers passed amid the squires -forced- to deal with the foul-tempered beast. But it's amazing what can be accomplished with treats and a kind word. Creatures are not so dissimilar to men, in that. With a murmured word, a handful of coarse barley and a scratch at the mighty stallion's withers, the young woman calmly begins combing out his mane, unperturbed by the occasional snuffle from the horse. He's mindful enough of her petite size, compared to the knights he normally sees, not to take a chunk out of her shoulder. Can't ask much more than that.
Though many things can be said of Ser Aron Haigh, an accusation of laziness is not one of them. He has been up for over an hour already, showing no ill effects from the wine he quaffed the night before. He is practicing with several other knights in a sort of round-robin melee - one man fights until he recieves a critical wound, spinning out so that another may face the victor. Their laughter and taunts float over the encampment.
Aron himself is no mean hand with a blade, but he is far from the best swordsman of the group. He takes his defeat at the hands of Ser Taggett relatively gracefully - for him. Turning away to wipe sweat from his face, he spots Ceinlys as she readies Banshee - his destrier - for the day. Tossing his dull sword to one of the squires, Aron makes his way in that direction, glittering armor jangling as he walks.
Rygar is far from the most richly attired of the knights massed in Stonebridge, his own brigadine of good quality, but apart from an orange and green sash in the heraldic colors of his family, the clean steel and maile is without ornament. The stern Nayland is at present speaking with another man ahorse, who starts off westward once the message is conveyed. Rygar's regard then turns about the camp, seeking out something or someone in particular.
"I begin to wonder if the majority of your success is not to be attributed to your mount, dear brother." Ceinlys addresses Aron without yet bothering to turn, the audible jangling of his approach identity enough for her. With the ghost of a smirk tugging at one corner of her lips, the cloaked and hooded young lady works through a particularly stubborn tangle in Banshee's mane with her fingertips, careful not to tug too hard as the enormous animal contentely chomps on what's left of his hay. Destriers take a lot of feeding. "I mean to say.. you do seem to fare better on horseback." There, that's slightly less of a sting, surely?
Once the knot is freed, Ceinlys pats the stallions muscular shoulder lightly with her palm, turning to face her armored sibling with a more genuine smile, folding her arms and leaning without a trace of fear against the horse at her back, much to the apparent whispering astonishment of the youngsters nearby. They go ignored. She's used to being whispered and pointed at, by now. Most Haighs are, for one reason or another. Casting a brief gaze toward the surrounding camps, her head tilted slightly askance, she moves on with a gentle enquiry. "Any word from our friends yet, regarding their expected numbers?"
"The largest group so far - apart from the Naylands - has been the Flints, with their two hunded. No one else seems to have an idea just yet. And yes, dear sister, I -am- better on horseback." Aron reaches past Ceinlys to rub roughly at Banshee's neck; the animal seems delighted, turning to headbutt the armored knight. "You've seen me joust." He smiles at the young woman beside him, but it's clear that a far more genuine warmth is directed toward the animal as he practically drapes an arm around its neck. The squires and pages are ignored, but for an amused snort at their amazement.
"Banshee is the only true friend I have, dear sister. Apart from you and Ser Taggett, of course." A nod to the circle of knights, where the brutish man has just kicked another knight between the legs and is now prancing around triumphantly. Aron laughs in self-deprecation, nodding as though to answer an unspoken question. "Yes, but he's so -fierce-. And he makes me more handsome."
Still grinning, the young Haigh knight turns and looks out over the growing encampment. As he spots Rygar prowling through its domains in his plain armor, Aron raises a hand and calls out to the other knight. "My Lord Rygar! Good morning!" His tone is perfectly pleasant, as though the pair had not butted heads the night before. "May my sister and I interest you in some breakfast?"
Rygar takes idle note of Ser Taggett's underhanded tactics in the sparring circle with a short sniff and faint frown narrowing his eyes. Yet it is not to Taggett, but to Aron and Ceinlys that the Nayland turns hiw word and eye. "Lady. Ser," he greets each in turn with a short, sharp bow of the head and shoulders. "I have broken my fast, but would hold word with you, Ser Aron," he notes crisply in reply to the offer of food, as purposeful strides deposit the tall knight in front of the two Haighs.
A soft, melodic laugh, if surprisingly throaty for a young lady, is at first the only response to Ser Aron's self-deprecating humor, though she does nod to convey her understanding of his summary of numbers also. Watching the knight greet his mount with such affection, she sidles away a little, straightening to her full, still diminuitive by comparison, height, arms remaining folded. With the gesture back toward the sparring group nearby, she merely quirks a slender brow, looking typically underwhelmed by their antics. "The same could be said of dogs, brother. Though they likely have more sense." Seeing as this scathing criticism is not directed to her sibling, she turns back to him with a blithe smile.
Had she been about to speak further, she properly halts for now as an exchange is made toward someone she has failed to notice. Turning glacial eyes - startlingly similar to those of Aron himself - upon the approaching Nayland, the young woman regards the older man contemplatively for a moment until he draws to a halt. A graceful curtsey - as graceful as can be expected in these surroundings anyway - is directed toward the man, one shoulder and hand dipped forward, her gaze momentarily downward cast in respect in accompaniment to a murmured, "M'lord." Following that, as one might expect, she remains quiet, even taking a subtle half-step back to allow the men their semblance of privacy.
Ceinlys's small burn toward Taggett causes Aron to hesitate before speaking as he chokes down a laugh. Finally, the man regains his composure. "My Lord, allow me to officially present Lady Ceinlys Erenford, my younger sister." Aron gestures gracefully to the woman at his side, smile remaining in place - but it is clear from Rygar's greeting that his interest is piqued. He points to one of the nearby squires at random. "Go and fetch some wine for Lord Rygar!" Never mind that it's barely dawn. The young knight returns his attention to Rygar swiftly as the squire literally -bolts- for one of the tents.
"You'll be pleased to know, My Lord, that my father has been sent word of our dilemma. I have no doubt that he and my brothers are raising the levies as we speak." A graceful admittance of his own fault the night before - Aron must be in a rare good mood. "Now, what may we do for you?"
Rygar inclines his head curtly in acknowledgement of Ceinlys' courtesy, "Lady Erenford," he adds at Aron's introduction, before his own chill regard shifts to the lady's brother. "Such is welcome word, Ser. As I expect Lord Haigh will execute the muster with alacrity and good order, we may benefit by that strength within a fortnight." A breath is drawn through the nose as the severe nobleman speaks on. "I come to discuss the order of march and deployment of the Haigh men already present, Ser. Ser Ryman Frey has expressed his wish that you and your knights accompany him among the Vanguard. I would have the name of he who shall command your Armsmen afoot within the column to follow."
A slow smile is afforded toward Rygar, despite his attention already having moved from her. Perhaps Ceinlys is a rarity in finding dismissal in favor of more important matters an interesting quality in such men. Or maybe she's simply keen to listen to what is being said, rather than make any attempt to distract the pair. The introductions made are enough. And the young lady never has any trouble with men forgetting -her- name. Unlike certain bastard knights. For the nonce, she simply folds her hands comfortably before herself and remains both quiet and almost unnervingly still.
For a brief moment, surprise flickers across Aron's face - but no alarm, no fear. The man is clearly not a coward. He reaches back absently to rub down his horse's neck before answering. "My Lord, in command of the footmen is Serjeant Jory Cobb. He's a good man - came with me during the Rebellion as well - and I trust him to keep the mutts in check." He is blithely oblivious to the fact that, five years ago, he and Rygar may have come very close to killing one another.
"My Lord, I'm afraid this is all news to me. I thought we had decided to hold here and fight a few columns where they might be found. If I may ask - *where* are we marching?" After all, Aron -had- left the meeting shortly before the decision to march on Terrick's Roost had come.
As the harried and ruddy-cheeked squire returns, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to deliver the summoned wine, Ceinlys serenely detaches herself with naught but a graceful sidestep from the two men and their discussion, smoothly intercepting the youth and relieving him of the two plain goblets he carries. All that work and he doesn't even get to hand the drinks over, poor sod.
"Tasted?" The young lady's simple question is softly voiced, so as not to interrupt Rygar, yet evenly voiced in the manner of one to whom such an enquiry seems perfectly normal. Rumor does have it, for some reason, that the young Haigh daughter has enemies among other Houses. But she likely just doesn't want to be held accountable if someone is seeking to poison the Nayland with whom her brother is speaking. Satisfied with the youngster's nod, she turns back toward the pair, offering a cup toward each with a faint smile. A rare display of hospitality, considering they stand in dirt and grass. No doubt being the only daughter of the eldest Frey female has its demands and expectations, muddy boots be damned. If the young Lady Erenford is even paying mind to the exchange taking place, there's no sign of it across her austere features; those icy blue eyes as unassuming as ever.
"We march west, Ser," Rygar reports plainly. "To cut off what number of the Ironborn as we may while they are scattered. The Outriders report that a short column of Stonehouse men are approaching Stonebridge overland, ignorant of our strength. While Lords Haigh, Erenford, Charlton and Frey call their banners, we are to advance on the Roost and inflict a defeat upon the men of the Isles in the open field." He reports it in the same voice that one might mention that one tree appears to be taller than the one beside it. "Thus, you may wish to advise your knight that striking his fellows in a manner that shall hamper their riding is.. ill advised," he notes with a pointed look aside to Taggett.
One more joins this small gathers of men (and woman) contemplating strategy. Gedeon Rivers, knight in service to Oldstones, makes his way across the muddy and trampled field. Wherever he was planning to go this morning, he drifts, instead, towards Rygar, Aron and Ceinlys. "Good morning my lord, my lady, ser." Aron and Ceinlys get a bow, Rygar a respectful nod.
"I'll let him know, Lord Rygar." Aron's amusement is written all over his face as he notes Rygar's distaste for Taggett's fighting style. "Ah, I see my sister has the wine! Ceinlys, dear sister, whatever would I do without you?" There is genuine fondness in the knight's voice as he accepts his goblet, taking a lengthy draught and sighing out in relief. He grins again as he considers Rygar's news, turning to Ceinlys. "Did you hear, sister? I'm to be in the vanguard." The tourney champion beams, clapping his gauntleted hands together once, manner practically ebullient in stark contrast to Rygar's detachment.
"I am pleased we decided to ride west, my Lord," he adds in a much calmer voice. "I firmly believe that if we can destroy their western forces piecemeal, it will only benefit us in the true battle - that to control Seagard." Aron grins again, this time more nastily. "And when we catch those Stonehouse fellows, we'll ride through them like a hot knife through butter." He returns Gedeon's bow with a deep nod. "Good morning, Ser."
Rygar accepts the offered goblet with a short nod, taking a polite taste of the vessel, enough to avoid offering insult to his impromptu hosts, before leaving the rest of the goblet alone. "Although Lord Blackwood, and his master our Lord Paramount would no doubt be pleased to see us waste our strength against Seagard, I am disinclined to throw away the only standing army between the Ironborn and the heartlands, for misplaced love of Jason Mallister," the stern Nayland notes with a short sniff. As Gedeon joins them, Rygar greets him with a chilly, "Ser." After a moment, he regards the goblet in his hand, before offering it to Gedeon. "Will Ser Rivers drink?"
"I heard." replies the dark-haired young woman, sweeping back the hood of her russet cloak with her newly-freed hand and revealing the glossy ebon waves beneath absentmindedly. No echo is made of her earlier sentiments regarding her brother's talents - or lack thereof - as she passes another distracted smile over Rygar, and onward to the newcomer. The young lady seems unruffled by the praise of her sibling.. though it becomes apparent, really, to any who encounter him that lavish outbursts may be very much in his nature. Ceinlys simply chooses not to blush under the barrage of flattery.
Settling her pale blue eyes upon Gedeon for a moment, the brunette gently pushes aside her skirts with the fingertips of her free hand, nudging them an inch or two though not actually bending knee until the second goblet is accepted from her grasp. "Ser.." The greeting is quiet but hardly shy and she regards Gedeon with some curiosity, particularly following the Nayland's abrupt hello.
Gedeon smiles faintly but shakes his head for the offered goblet. "Ser Rivers will not, ser, though I thank you kindly. I find, most unfortunately, that wine drunk so early in the day does not agree with me. But tell me, do you suggest, even in such a dire time, the Lord Paramount would seek to weaken his own forces to satisfy any bitterness he bears the Freys?" Glancing to Aron he adds, "I agree with the thought that we are better placed to attach the scattered armies in the West than the one amassed at Seagard." For Ceinlys's soft greeting, or perhaps for that open study, she gets studied back for a beat.
"I agree with you, My Lord Rygar. To destroy our strength in a foolhardy drive against Seagard was just.. silliness. Jason Mallister will hold. -We- will save the Roost, and your own western lands, and then worry about the man behind the huge stone walls." Faint traces of irony slither through Aron's voice as he sips his wine; he doesn't seem to be offended when Rygar offers his to the newcomer, though he is a bit amused.
"I do have a small concern, My Lord. While we men are off having our fun, where shall my sister stay? And I am certain Young Lord Erenford is wondering the same about his lovely sister, Emylie." Aron smiles aside at Ceinlys, sipping his wine idly. He turns away for a moment to stroke a hand down Banshee's flank, the black destrier preening a bit beneath the touch. "Ser Rivers, I am certain that the Lord Paramount would do no such thing, nor was Lord Rygar suggesting it. I believe that Lord Tully is simply overly-concerned about denying the Ironborn a port. Understandable, really."
"The Ser misspeaks on my behalf," Rygar notes sharply to Gedeon. "I shall do him the courtesy of presuming his error was one of hearing, rather than judgement. It is not for spite of Walder Frey, but for misspent love of Jason Mallister that I believe Lord Tully's man Blackwood so firmly advised a futlie effort to relieve Seagard before the full levies are mustered. Sentiment, now as ever, is the enemy of good strategy. As Ser Aron states: Seagard will hold another fortnight."
Lingering gazes from strange men can, apparently, be added to the rapidly growing list of things that fail to unduly concern Ceinlys Erenford. Flashing Ser Rivers a vague smile, she only slowly turns her own eyes from him as the conversation continues; on Aron's part coming to involve her directly for the first time. "Do not concern yourself with such things, dear brother. I am quite capable of finding an inn, I expect. And I shall have Brigid with me." Presumably that's a person, though with Ceinlys' dimissive manner it could just as easily be a wolfhound. Still, she does cast a look toward Rygar, in case he -should- have any insight on where young ladies ought to find a bed in Stonebridge. A smile is not long in returning to play across her lips at his frowning words of retort, though she has the grace to quell the amused expression swiftly, lowering her gaze to the trampled ground underfoot until composure reasserts itself.
Rygar looks then aside to Aron, to whom he states, "A further two hundred Nayland men have been raised to defend Stonebridge in the army's wake, Ser. Those ladies shall be well protected in this, the center of our Overlord's efforts to fortify and re-take the Cape."
"You are, as ever, the soul of courtesy, Lord Rygar," Gedeon replies calmly, "and I must apologize for mishearing your words. Sentiment may play a part, though I'd argue fear is also a component in Lord Blackwood's urgings. No Riverlander should wish to see Seagard held by Ironmen. But like the pair of you, I agree that a march to retake the Roost and destroy those forces between will be out better effort with the number we hold."
"Come, come, Sers. No unpleasantness this morning." Aron's eyes dart between Gedeon and Rygar; he gestures to the pavilion just behind him. "We must have dinner before we ride. Especially when we all three agree on what must be done." His tone is light, casual, as he smiles between the others. With a smile toward his sister, the tourney knight adds "I am glad to hear that you have secured such a force for the township's defense, Ser Rygar. I would be.. very unhappy should my sister ever come face-to-face with an Ironborn."
"Now, do we have an idea of these Stonehouse numbers? If they're marching on Stonebridge, I can only assume they're relatively strong." He doesn't seem concerned, so much as genuinely curious. Taking a sip of his wine, the man says "After all, you've already fended off one attack."
Rygar answers Gedeon's glib words with the comment, "Fear is a sentiment as much as any other Ser. In some men it is stronger than any other, as the Ser no doubt knows." His eye turns toward Aron as talk of the Stonehouse strength is broached. "As noted in council prior, the Outriders place an estimate of the Stonehouse column at a century. There are a further four hundred or so men throughout the countryside in bands between a score and a hundred. Our object shall be to cut off as many of these as we may with our horse, while the infantry advance on the Roost."
First nodding her agreement toward Rygar at his lukewarm assurances, perfectly well bolstered it would seem, Ceinlys then grants her tall brother a smile at his mention of dinner… though closer inspection might imply that the warmth goes unechoed in her blue eyes. He makes the grand invitations, -she- spends the late morning chasing after, frankly, second-rate serving girls. Aron may have picked the fiercest of the knights, but it would seem he went for looks and bodice size as qualities in the rest of their retainers. Hardly helpful. Ah well.
Dusting off her faded red skirts in an apparently habitual gesture, the young lady allows her gaze to wander toward the Erenford colors in the near distance, no doubt contemplating the rammifications of her remaining in their proximity without the defense of her -own- House. But she makes no comment upon it. Men are rarely interested in feminine concerns and petty affairs such as those. With one hand, she reaches to her nape, freeing the rest of her long mane with a brief shake of the curls.
"Indeed, ser, I have seen that very sentiment in the eyes of some I have faced and fallen," Gedeon agrees for Rygar's comment, a corner of his mouth lifting in faint bemusement at the Nayland's jab, "though more often, it's just surprise." For Aron's invitation, he adds, "I would be honored to take dinner with you, my lord, and speak more on strategy."
"Oh, strategy. Must we talk of strategy? I would be a poor host indeed if I allowed only business to dominate the conversation!" Aron laughs, shaking his head and sipping the strong wine he holds. "No, no. I shall have the girls find us a bard, and put on a dance. Ceinlys will entertain us all with her singing voice, and all will be well. Besides, it shall have to wait until -after- we kill these dastardly Ironborn." The young knight grins, displaying perfect teeth - perhaps too many of them - as he adds "After all, if one of us dies, I shall have to adjust the dinner invitations. And this gives my darling sister time to prepare a proper feast for the returning heroes."
"While I thank the Ser and his good sister for such invitation," Rygar voices with his eye going in turn from Aron to Ceinlys, "Strategy is to be my occupation, so that in days to come, others may dwell on dances and dinners, Ser." Dour and severe as ever is the lean Nayland.
Thoughtful blue eyes flit between the trio of men, so different in temperament, experience and stature. Comfortably folding her arms across her waspish midsection, Ceinlys leaves them largely to their banter and other, more subtle social nuances for a time, fingertips tugging the embroidered hems of her thick cloak a little closer in front. It seems a gesture of idle distraction rather than modesty or ward of chill. Following Aron's airy deliverance, though, she does add an even-toned comment, addressing both Rygar and Gedeon in turn.
"I would be pleased to arrange such, Sers." Her own manner is rather more languid, as seems to be her way; particularly compared to her tall sibling. But it is no less genuine, presumably. "A celebration of some sort will be in order upon your return. Why oughtn't it be wine and women, warm food and fine music?" All things enjoyed by her family and presumably their shared liege. Certainly she has no qualms about offering. "Ser.." she adds, in a quieter timbre, though no less business-like, a hand extended slowly toward Rygar. "..allow me to relieve you of your cup, should you be sated." There's no hint of offence in the goblet still being almost untouched, nor in his denial of the invite. When the time comes for revelry, even the staunchest man, she has found, can be persuaded to take part. No need to press the matter.
"Wine and dance will have their place, though a successful march on the Roost will be but one battle in a larger fight and not the fight entire. So, perhaps dancing and bards may wait until the Ironmen, what ones will be left, slink back to their islands," Gedeon says, his gaze moving from Aron to Ceinlys to Rygar in turn. "But I am not quite so solitary our good Lord Rygar. If it may be premature for a feast, dinner in good company, whatever the topic of conversation, strikes me as a fitting pleasantry as we recover from one battle and prepare for the next."
"I find that to be a shame, Ser Rygar. I have always thought that a man must occasionally relieve the pressures bearing down on him. Else he begins to miss the trees for the forest, or whatever it is they say. But perhaps once we slaughter a few hundred Ironborn, I can convince you to change your mind." The tall Haigh knight smiles aside at his sister, absently brushing a hand down the front of his brigatine armor. "Ceinlys can organize a superb gathering, let me assure you both. My mother trained her well in the art." He turns toward Gedeon with an easy smile.
"Wine and dance always have their place, my friend. Of course, we must lend our strength to the task befoe us, but I see no reason why it need suck all joy from one's life." He grins impishly, then shrugs. "When will your Lord be arriving, Ser Gedeon? I've never met Lord Valentin in the jousts, but I always rather hoped to." He has an excellent reputation." Well, for jousting, anyhow. Aron's smile shows no hint that he disapproves of some of the -other- rumors that surround Lord Anton.
Rygar nods shortly once to Ceinlys' offer to recieve the goblet back, presenting it to her with a sharp dip of his stiff neck and shoulders. "My thanks for the hospitality, Lady Erenford." He looks again to Aron with a second short bow, "Such shall be seen. Ser Haigh." He looks next to Gedeon and does not bow in parting, as typical for a nobleman parting from a commoner. "Ser."
"A pleasure, Ser." Ceinlys' reply to the gruff Nayland is as enigmatic and practiced as if she had received a kiss to the hand and adoring praise, accompanied by a smile and a swift half-curtsey in kind as she balances the near-brimming wine. That done, she returns her attention to her brother, the subtle cant of her head implying flattery in his words, despite her vaguely wry expression. "As you say, dear brother. Raised among such brothers, I had little choice but to anticipate their needs when it came to celebrations, hm? Else mother would have had time for little else." On the matter of Valentin, she falls quiet once again, excusing herself with a murmured word and turning away, seeking some hapless, currently idle squire to take away the remnants of Rygar's wine. Or drink it. Either way. It would be unseemly for the young Lady Erenford to sown it, after all. "I will see to it, regardless, if that is the popular desire." she concludes when she turns back, sweeping an errant wisp of ebon hair from her cheek with an idle gesture, looking between Aron and Gedeon.
"I expect Ser Anton and the bowmen from Oldstones shall be here by early afternoon," Gedeon answers Aron. He smiles faintly for the compliment to his lord, adding, "Lord Ser Valentin is quite an accomplished warrior." As Rygar departs with but a glance for him, Gedeon offers him the courtesy of a nod. "Ser Rygar," he returns, "may your neck improve speedily." Returning his attention to the Haigh and the nee Haigh he adds, "I, too, must be off to arrange a space on the field for our arriving men. Good to speak with you again, Ser Haigh, and to briefly meet you, Lady Erenford."
"May the Seven watch over both of you as we make our preparations." Aron offers a bow toward Rygar and a grave nod to Gedeon, apparently unabashed at not picking a fight in their own internal squabble. After all, the young Haigh knight has more than his own share of enemies. No reason we can't be civilized about it. He grins aside at Ceinlys, answering her gentle gibe. "It's a true talent, Sister, that will bear you in good stead. Someday you'll thank me for all the practice I've provided." With a beaming smile toward the others as the small gathering breaks up, Aron calls after the departing knights. "I will see you in the Vanguard!"
"Likewise, I'm sure, Ser Rivers." Again, that easy smile is bestowed upon the young knight, despite the frisson of tension that has been apparent throughout his interplay with the formidable Nayland. "No doubt we shall meet again." With another shallow curtsey, Ceinlys then tosses her cloak back from her shoulders as she turns in a sort of pirouette upon a booted heel to face the Haigh pavilion. "And I have many talent, dear brother." This toward Aron, with a smile unsettlingly similar to his own. "..but scarce few I have you to thank for." The young lady doesn't wait for the knight to either retort or to follow. She simply heads inside, swiftly lost to the enfolding dark as the sunlight makes itself more firmly known about the distant skyline.