Supper's nearly over by the time Mordred gets home, after the latest crackplot has worn off and he's finally gotten done whatever he was out doing. He elbows the front door open and slips inside, all windblown and lively. "Hi."
"And now you know." There's still a warm, pleasant smell in the kitchen, and a glow from the fire; he nudges the door open further. "You want to come in, say hello to everyone?"
"Your da, for one," shutting the door after her. "And Gawain, of course. Clar. --Lady Cywyllog." Do we mention our absent boyfriend? Maybe not right now. "They're in the other room, I think. I'm stuck washing up this week."
"Oh come on, you know your aunt Clar, don't you?" He tosses her a towel, with no more encouragement. "And you met Cywyllog when you first came. My wife. Melehan's mother." Not still blushing over this fact, no.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment