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‘Oh just a half!’ Penstemon grinned at the tall man, giggling to herself at the thought of such a big fellow leading her about the floor. She cocked her head at him and examined his face as he poured her ale. Handsome enough, she supposed….for one of the Big Folk, that is. And from the look on Tanni’s face as she watched the man, Penstemon supposed the woman thought much the same.
Never hold a candle to my own Rowlie she thought to herself, remembering what a fine dancer he’d been – very light on his feet.
And thinking of ‘feet’ she threw the Ranger a question, or rather a firm request; that is, that he would be careful with his big feet all clad up in hard-soled boots. ‘These toes have got to last me a few more years,’ she concluded. ‘So I’d be thankful if you didn’t mash any of them. Not that you will or would, just bringing it to your attention.’
From across the table she caught a stifled chuckle…
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