attn: Laurel
Agravain is in a rare splendid mood--the Mansion, it's long been noted, has a habit of producing what people want, even without the plothole, and on that note a mews has spontaneously generated somewhere behind the stables, a little out of the ordinary way, and in his wandering Agravain managed to find it. He's spent the better part of the day playing with the merlins and falcons, including one particularly nice peregrine that he may or may not have conceived an absolute passion for.
Moreover, he killed something (yay!) with the peregrine, successfully lit his own fire and roasted the pheasant outside, shared his supper with his bird, came back home, and discovered the cellars. So this is really the perfect day.
He is sitting now in the room he shares with Laurel, muddy, somewhat brier-torn, with a nasty cut on his upper arm that he got from startling one of the little merlins, drinking his third tankard of ale in perfect contentment.
Moreover, he killed something (yay!) with the peregrine, successfully lit his own fire and roasted the pheasant outside, shared his supper with his bird, came back home, and discovered the cellars. So this is really the perfect day.
He is sitting now in the room he shares with Laurel, muddy, somewhat brier-torn, with a nasty cut on his upper arm that he got from startling one of the little merlins, drinking his third tankard of ale in perfect contentment.