* he leans against the horse *
No more, my friend

<crystal4314@hotmail.com

*the fragrance of rose water comes up from the farbic, and with it, that
certain scent that is all her own, taking him back to the evening at the
cottage where he kissed her neck, so close to her. It is both comforting in
some ways and discomfitting in certain others ... Xantha drops to kneel
beside him, looking for more sugar cubes*

15:06:16 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* staring at it for a moment, he finally smiles and begins to blush *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com

*the fabric is a piece of very expensive ivory satin, about 9 inches
square,
the sort used in lingerie of wealthy women. It is silky, smooth beneath
his
fingers, but heats quickly from his skin. Embroidered on to one corner
is
Castillean style blackwork, an intricate pattern in ebony thread. Above
it,
sloping letters elegantly read 'Bis es mir, komme ich weich und warm zu
Ihrem Bett' and initialled 'B'*

((Until it is I who comes soft and warm to your bed))

14:51:37 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* morgan looks down at it, turning it over in his hand *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com

*he crunches this one as well before looking back to the cloth in
Morgan's
hand*

14:45:37 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* morgan takes the other and hands it to the horse *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com

*he munches it happily, having seen it earlier in the day when it
was
slipped in to the bed roll. Once finished, he looks at Morgan
again*

14:40:53 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* morgan grins and holds out the sugar to the horse *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com

*Xantha snorts, as if having long anticipated having both. He
taps
one
hoof
on the ground*

14:36:51 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* morgan slowly picks up one lump and brings it to his mouth,
all
the
while watching the horse *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*inside the roll is a little blue bag, which contains a
piece
of
fabric
and
two sugar lumps. Xantha watches him*

14:32:49 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* sighing, he opens the roll and rummages for the object *

<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*its has a slight, unusual bump to it. Xantha persists in
trying
to
get
to
it*


13:14:54 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* he looks at the roll before picking it up and placing
behind
him *


<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*Xantha now nudges at it, over and over, which is part
amusing,
part
annoying*

13:04:14 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* he takes the pack off, placing it on the ground. *


<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*Xantha just tries to get the pack off more,
looking
at
Morgan
with
solemn,
pleading eyes*

12:59:48 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* he looks at the horse *
Give over... Someone has to stand guard


<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*the thick rope that tethered him with the
others
has
been
meticulously
chewed. He turns himself so that the saddlebag
with
Morgan's
bed
roll
rubs
against the oak tree Morgan sits beneath*

12:40:05 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* Morgan looks up at the horse *
(4ish)


<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*within a few minutes, it turns very cold.
There
is
the
soft
noise
of
hooves
as Xantha comes over to him*

((eactly how smart is this horse, on a scale
1
(low)
to 5
(exceptional)h
? ))

12:35:52 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* he sits for a while before dousing the
fire
and
going
apart
from
the
camp aways to settle into the crook of a
tree
to
keep
watch
*


<crystal4314@hotmail.com


*after a while, they also bid Morgan
goodnight,
leaving
him
alone*

12:26:28 +0100
Subject: Re: FW: rp
From: mads.steinberg@gmail.com


* he glances at the man briefly before
looking
away *


<crystal4314@hotmail.com






10:46:40 +0000
Subject: RE: rp

*they don't seem to pay him much
attention.
As
the
night
wears
on,
more
and more disapear for their beds,
until
its
just
three,
discussing
quietly
their respective brides to be, each
trying
to
out
do
the
others.*

Well, my girl makes the best plum
pudding
in
the
whole
town!
Mine can almost ride a horse!
Mine's got the biggest pair of *he
looks
briefly
to
Morgan,
embarrassed,
before continuing* eyes you've ever
seen!





* Morgan sits quietly, watching the
men
sing,
occasionally
taking
a
sip
from his cup*
- -



11:05

((just in case you're bored))

The campfire is made 3 leagues away
from
the
intended
fortress.
It
burns
well, dense wood of the northern
forest
fills
the
air
with
pleasantly
scented smoke. The band of 15 men sit
round
this
campfire,
remincenses
of
war now run out. Two of these men
fought
alongside
morgan,
which
only
adds
to the strength of the feelings often
held
the
night
before
battle.
The
drinking and singing has now begun, a
ward
against
fear,
against
the
risk
of the endeavour, against the longing
for
their
homestead,
and
the
wives
and children that rest soundly there.

The war is many years passed, though
this
night,
it
is
still
clearly
alive
in its surviving soldiers, some
objectionist,
some
vaticine,
but
now
all
children of the Sudlache. The thrill
of
War,
it
strategy
and
tactics,
the
adreniline of the fight, these are
ingrained
in
the
heart
and
mind
of
every Eisen man. Though peace is
welcomed,
as
each
man
looks
at
his
commrades, he sees his own expression
mirrored,
vibrant
and
full
of
life,
powerful. It feels right to be
fighting,
it
is
what
each
was
born
for.

For Morgan, five years have past since
the
end
of
the
war.
Leaving
then,
he thought he'd seen the worst he
would,
and
that
the
life
that
waited
him
would be simple, organised, appealing
to
the
part
of
him
that
was
Avalonian. And then there was
Dietlinde,
love
turning
this
quiet
world
where he was to be Graf upside down,
and
the
choices
he
made
for
them
and
Jana. And then the destruction of this
life,
his
world.
And
leaving
his
homeland and birthright seemingly
forever.
There
was
avalon
and
avebury,
simple times as a simple man, haunted
by
memory,
and
by
those
sent
to
watch him. Then Tawstock with battles
not
now
between
one
set
of
teachings
and another, but between good and evil
at
the
simplest
levels.
Then
friendships, revelations of secrets,
speaking
of
things
he
thought
never
to speak of, trust and being trusted,
caring
and
being
cared
for...
All
these things that have made living
after
the
war
harder
than
during.

The men round the campfire comfortably
settle
in
to
their
flasks,
and
the
songs turn bawdy, one in particular
catching
his
ear
of
a
milkmaid
luring
men to the hayloft with her ample
charms...