Peony looked at Aldor, who seemed to be in a trance before smiling once more at her. "Are you alright? You seemed worried just a moment ago." Peony returned Aldor's smile.
"Perhaps a little homesick?" Peony knew what it meant to be homesick. Days would come when all she felt like doing was turning around and returning to Minas Tirith. Yet at the same time she was out to prove her father wrong.
You will not last a month in the wild Peony. You will return with your tale between your legs like a wounded dog.
Peony loved her father, but she had to show him she could handle being away from home. She looked at Aldor and laughed a little. "Perhaps something to take your mind off our troubles. Care for another dance?"
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"Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." - Mark Twain
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