Two groups of riders approach each other on the road.
“I see you survived.”
The two groups ride off together. The e—
“That’s not how it happened.”
“What are you talkin’ about, that’s exactly how it happened!”
Charlotte cut her eyes at Devon but didn’t miss the immediate relief on Mars’ face, clearly thinking he was about to be reprimanded for his satirical recreation of “northern ways” with forks, spoons & bread. Apparently she was the fork.
“I think he has done a great job of capturing the essence of the characters-except for me. Where’s my strong jaw, and my weapons?!?”
Charlotte sighed as Ingvar joined in. “About the weapon – how are you going to tell your father about that?”
A shadow passed over Devon’s face. “I’m going to explain to my Lord Father in the northern way.” The food arrived – cold sliced meats and fresh fruits and vegetables to go with the bread they already had. Following Mars’ example, Devon built a small food effigy and looked up at Ingvar.
“This is the man who has Ghost Touch.” With a sudden burst of anger the large battle axe sliced through the effigy and sank deep into the dining hall table. Immediately contrite, Devon looked around the suddenly silent room, lastly at Ingvar. Charlotte noted a silent ‘something’ that passed between the two relatives.
“Still messy, cousin,” Ingvar said, wiping a piece of meat off of his face. “No style.”
“I never needed style to best you, cousin,” Devon answered, smiling again. The two Lord Dents were suddenly a tangle of arms, twisting and wrestling across the table. It was clear no real harm was meant and it was also clear that Devon was the better fighter. It wasn’t long before he had Ingvar in a headlock.
“Let me get that meat off for you,” Devon mock growled. It was as he was grinding a piece of bread into Ingvar’s face that the sound of a throat being cleared broke through. The two cousins froze, staring at Lady Farra standing in the doorway. Ingvar spoke first.
“He started it.”