For You (manxman)

Gifts

It looks like they'll be feasting chicken, and mostly eggs this winter. Pickled vegetables are also on the menu. Fish is another option but the lake and rivers are frozen solid. The fishermen are already making an effort, though so far they can only catch a handful of bream and trout. Quentin is still thankful for the bounty they get, no matter how small as long as the people of his House are fed.

Rations will be distributed equally, except for a family of five and more. They'll be given a bigger portion. Another hard winter.

He stops writing for a moment, his fingers already stiff from excessive movement.

"It's almost night time, my lord." Warren comes in, bringing a hot cup of milk for him. This boy is always so courteous.

Quentin blinks, trying to drive away the fatigue from his eyes, "I know." He accepts the cup, and relaxes as he inhales the scent of the fresh milk, "And thank you."

"Your visitor..."

Quentin takes a small sip, "I... Yes... I wish I could spend some more time with him." His cheeks turns pink in shame, "Where is he now?"

"He's said he'll be hunting for today," Warren's gazes the icy scenery beyond the window, "Borrowed a bow and a full quiver. His swords by the hip."

"He's very dashing, don't you think?" Quentin blurts out, having imagined of a battle ready Roman.

"Dashingly dangerous?" Warren replies, side- eyeing him, "Then, yes."

Quentin laughs work forgotten, and thoughts strayed to their visitor, "I think a prince or princess would suit him." His statement made him pause, brows immediately drawn together, "I... right?" There is no conviction in his voice.

"That could be, but let's not rule out the lords and ladies, even the folks without rank."

He fiddles with strands of his hair, and twirls it on his finger, "You think so?"

It is a stupid question. And he doesn't understand why he even asked. The words flow easily without giving it a second thought.

"I am merely pointing out a possibility." Warren shrugs his shoulders.

It was not a forward "yes" nor was it a "no".

He stares at the bottom of his cup like the answer will pop out of it. Of course, it remains empty obviously.

"Did he say when he'll come back?"

"No, nothing specific."

The forest outside is dangerous even their hunters go home with few game but more bruises. The weather only made it worse. It would look as if the trees taunt you that they know the way out of the wilderness but will never really say, the wind whispers your fears, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and predators hide behind shrubberies, eyes glowing yellow as they wait for you to break.