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Undómë · 04-04-2006, 03:16 AM

Undómë's post

Meghan

‘Burnt oat cakes, eh? Hmmm . . .’ She stepped back and hands on hips gave him an appraising look, looking him up and down through narrowed eyes, brows raised. Had she been taller, it might have proved more effective. Still she was a large spirit in a small body and what she lacked in stature, she made up for in words . . . which were often not well thought out aforehand.

‘I can only think of one sort of animal who goes about in a flock and who might be so daft as to think a lumpy, charred offering would be tasty.’ Meghan shook her head and snorted. ‘Sheep . . . those dim-witted great lumps of yarn!’ She laughed, saying, ‘The only thing more feebleminded than sheep is the herder!’

Stifling another laugh, she glanced up and caught the change of expression on his face. Her mouth formed and ‘Oh!’ of sudden realization, her eyes opening wide. ‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’

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Arry's post

‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’

Now how was he to answer that one? Was he to admit to feeblemindedness simply because he kept sheep? He found himself on the horns of a dilemma . . . and there she stood a great grin on her face, her eyes snapping with delight at having bested him.

He wanted to be angry with her and found he simply couldn’t. Much as he composed his face into some semblance of seriousness, still he could feel the corners of his own mouth inching up into a similar grin.

‘And from the tone of your voice and the tenor of your comments, I’d say you are one of those . . . yes, those . . .’ He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something quite noxious. ‘Goat people.’ Now it was his turn to look down his nose at her . . . as if she were a bug of sorts. ‘Always butting into everyone’s business . . . that’s what goats do. And honestly, I’ve found for the most part their owners have quite similar temperaments. Nosy, bossy, demanding . . . and have you ever noticed how opinionated they are . . . goats and goat-herders . . .

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Undómë's post

Rædwald

Rædwald looked on with great amusement at the teasing play between the young man, Brand, and Meghan. He smiled at the words that passed between them; thinking all the while to himself that just such banter is how it should be between those their age. His eyes took on a certain sadness looking at Athwen as she knelt next to one of the other young men from Wulfham – Dorran. Pain and sorrow should not be the lot for these youngsters . . . it was not right. He spat on the ground thrice and cursed the lord of those dark lands who could not, would not, value lives such as these.

He untied the small sack of oats from his saddle and offered his horse a meager handful. ‘Sorry Lis,’ he told her. ‘But I fear the rest will be used to fill our own bellies, so best enjoy this little treat as there’ll be no more.

‘Come you two!’ he called out to Meghan and Brand. ‘For all your boasting of your cooking prowess, these oats won’t be mixed and seasoned and patted into tasty cakes by your words.’ He held up the bag, looking at them expectantly. ‘Time to put your hands to work and give your mouths a rest, eh?’

He threw the bag to Brand and winked at Meghan. ‘Time for the sheepman to prove his worth.’

04-04-2006, 03:16 AM	#271
Undómë Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Mar 2005 Posts: 400	Undómë's post Meghan ‘Burnt oat cakes, eh? Hmmm . . .’ She stepped back and hands on hips gave him an appraising look, looking him up and down through narrowed eyes, brows raised. Had she been taller, it might have proved more effective. Still she was a large spirit in a small body and what she lacked in stature, she made up for in words . . . which were often not well thought out aforehand. ‘I can only think of one sort of animal who goes about in a flock and who might be so daft as to think a lumpy, charred offering would be tasty.’ Meghan shook her head and snorted. ‘Sheep . . . those dim-witted great lumps of yarn!’ She laughed, saying, ‘The only thing more feebleminded than sheep is the herder!’ Stifling another laugh, she glanced up and caught the change of expression on his face. Her mouth formed and ‘Oh!’ of sudden realization, her eyes opening wide. ‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Arry's post ‘Oh, no . . . tell me you’re not a sheep man . . . are you?’ Now how was he to answer that one? Was he to admit to feeblemindedness simply because he kept sheep? He found himself on the horns of a dilemma . . . and there she stood a great grin on her face, her eyes snapping with delight at having bested him. He wanted to be angry with her and found he simply couldn’t. Much as he composed his face into some semblance of seriousness, still he could feel the corners of his own mouth inching up into a similar grin. ‘And from the tone of your voice and the tenor of your comments, I’d say you are one of those . . . yes, those . . .’ He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something quite noxious. ‘Goat people.’ Now it was his turn to look down his nose at her . . . as if she were a bug of sorts. ‘Always butting into everyone’s business . . . that’s what goats do. And honestly, I’ve found for the most part their owners have quite similar temperaments. Nosy, bossy, demanding . . . and have you ever noticed how opinionated they are . . . goats and goat-herders . . . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Undómë's post Rædwald Rædwald looked on with great amusement at the teasing play between the young man, Brand, and Meghan. He smiled at the words that passed between them; thinking all the while to himself that just such banter is how it should be between those their age. His eyes took on a certain sadness looking at Athwen as she knelt next to one of the other young men from Wulfham – Dorran. Pain and sorrow should not be the lot for these youngsters . . . it was not right. He spat on the ground thrice and cursed the lord of those dark lands who could not, would not, value lives such as these. He untied the small sack of oats from his saddle and offered his horse a meager handful. ‘Sorry Lis,’ he told her. ‘But I fear the rest will be used to fill our own bellies, so best enjoy this little treat as there’ll be no more. ‘Come you two!’ he called out to Meghan and Brand. ‘For all your boasting of your cooking prowess, these oats won’t be mixed and seasoned and patted into tasty cakes by your words.’ He held up the bag, looking at them expectantly. ‘Time to put your hands to work and give your mouths a rest, eh?’ He threw the bag to Brand and winked at Meghan. ‘Time for the sheepman to prove his worth.’ Last edited by Undómë; 04-05-2006 at 03:30 AM.