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[iustus_rex]

Edmund's notebook is open, showing a half-made list in the tidy, cramped handwriting of someone who endured any number of penmanship lessons. Every so often he adds another item: Pastels (messy) or Group mural? (ask Tom or Door) or Fingerpainting (messier, but good when they're excited)Mostly, though, he's neglecting this list in favor of

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[pwyll_twiceborn]

There's a man sitting not far off; sitting and watching. (It's a bad habit, one might say.)

The sketched trees have attracted a certain degree of interest that is more tha the usual, though.

"Drawn from memory, I take it," he remarks, eventually, glancing down at the page.

[iustus_rex]

"Hmm?" Edmund glances up.

"Oh. Yes, rather." That's with a faint smile.

[pwyll_twiceborn]

"It's nice work," Paul says, after studying the page another moment; it's a statement of fact, with no accompanying smile at the moment.

"You've been here a while, then."

[iustus_rex]

"Thanks."

Edmund's smile was a social one, automatic; it's faded, but he's still amiable.

"Some time, yes. Lord, it must be close to two years by now." It's not entirely clear how Edmund feels about that, under the friendliness of small talk.

"Edmund Pevensie."

[poisonwine]

Belladonna gets up from her chair, wandering over, her steps measured and light, showing her lifetime of training in ever graceful step.

She smiles at Edmund, who she saw looking at her earlier, pausing at his table to look at his sketch.

[iustus_rex]

Edmund, whose sisters learned woodcraft and dancing from dryads, notices the training in that grace. He doesn't particularly show it, though; lots of people around here have been trained in one way or another.

Edmund smiles back, automatically polite, and tilts it subtly (and only the slightest bit self-consciously) so she can see better.

[poisonwine]

Belle beams at him. "Beautiful. I especially like thi detail here," she points to part of the sketch, careful not to touch it in case it's smearable.

[iustus_rex]

That part isn't, but the care is appreciated; the ink dries quickly, but the area he was just drawing is still damp and faintly glistening.

"Thanks," Edmund says, with a slightly self-deprecating smile.

"That's my brother-in-law's ship. Not moored like that now, of course, but I wanted to draw something summery."

[takiena_called]

Finn's watching curiously from a table near by. Edmund's the second person he's seen sketching here. He doesn't exactly mean to stare, but from what he can see of the drawing it look interesting.

[iustus_rex]

Edmund's used to being watched, even just as Edmund Pevensie of England -- drawing in public places often attracts attention -- but he does notice.

And, after a few minutes, offers the boy a small smile of greeting.

[takiena_called]

Finn smiles back, a bit embarassed.

"You're a good artist."

[iustus_rex]

"Practice," says Edmund, slightly self-deprecating.

"That's all."

It's not all, but it is a fair bit of it. Natural talent is one thing, but he has sketchbooks upon sketchbooks of clumsy early drawings.