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[dukes_daughter]

Ganymede is out in the woods. This, of course, is nothing new, nor is his position beneath a tree, knees drawn up to his chest and looking up at the sky from between the leaves. Someone who knows him well, however, might notice he seems quieter than is his custom.

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[smithofwainola]

Ilmarinen doesn't really know him, but they have met, once; when they meet again, the blacksmith has a stained apron, and his arms are full of firewood. He gives a small bow--not enough to tip the wood--and a somewhat larger smile as he passes.

[dukes_daughter]

He gives a little smile in return. "Bow not to me, sir."

[smithofwainola]

A laugh. "Even if you are a servant, I have learned to show respect to those below and those above me."

[dukes_daughter]

He stands. "A goodly way!"

[smithofwainola]

"One I should have learned far sooner." He shakes his head, putting that in the past. "Have you come to climb the trees, then?"

[dukes_daughter]

"But to sit today, sir."

[smithofwainola]

"This is wise. The limbs are fragile when the cold keeps their sap sluggish."

[dukes_daughter]

"Ay?" He looks up at the branches with interest. "I knew it not."

[smithofwainola]

"It is true; my land was often cold, and we took care in climbing."

[dukes_daughter]

"I would think them the harder for a freezing. Yet 'tis warmer every day, perchance by now 'tis safe."

[smithofwainola]

"But today, you only sit here?" He raises his brows; it is almost a question.

[dukes_daughter]

"Ay, sir." He mirrors the expression. "Is't wrong?"

[smithofwainola]

"No." He smiles. "Boys will grow up; I know this."

[dukes_daughter]

He looks down, smiling, too. "I pray 'tis not that."

[smithofwainola]

"What else could make young men sober?"

[dukes_daughter]

He laughs. "They are a special breed, that may not be but merry?"