Tarannon woke. He shook his head, but couldn't clear the drowsiness out of it. To much to drink? No, it took more than a mug of Dwarven malt to give him a hangover. Standing up, he stumbled out of his tent and toward the stream. He leaned over and splashed cold water on his face. Unoticed, his horse walked up behind Tarannon and made himself useful by knocking his rider into the stream. Tarannon came up spluttering. He could hear laughter from the direction of the lodge. Cursing inwardly, he glared at his steed and heaved himself onto the bank. Though he was thouroughly drenched, his head was clear and he remained unharmed. However, he also seemed to have swallowed quite a lot of rather fishy water. He walked back to his tent to change.
Now dressed in dry riding leathers, Tarannon walked to the lodge. He filled a plate and joined the three others who were already there. Durvagor grinned at him, and he smiled ruefully. Aravir appeared to be choking, but Tarannon suspected that he was trying to stifle his laughter. Elleraden looked up from his plate, glancing first at Aravir, then at Tarannon. Immediately he turned away, a poorly disguised chuckle only half hidden. Slightly hurt, Tarannon frowned. Then he thought back to the incident. Okay, maybe it was funny. He grinned. Soon they were all laughing. Tarannon laughed too, feeling happy rather than ashamed. He did feel slightly foolish, though, when Durvagor reached over and pulled a string of river-weeds out of his sopping wet hair, laughing even harder.
[ June 16, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]
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