The idea of sleeping on a dirt floor is not new to Isielin; she often slept under the pines of her native land, with nothing but moss and ferns as her bedding. But... those places held beauty, life... spirits. Here, was dust. She opened her mouth to say something to Eagle, but at that moment her stomach growled loud enough for all to hear. As every eye trained upon her, even Lyander's, she grew still, hoping her dark, copper skin would hide the flush of embarassment she felt.
"I... suppose it is a good thing we have a cook," she said quietly. She turned to Aldeus, desperate to change the subject; "Sir Aldeus, in exchange for your hospitality, I ask permission to begin work on the stables tomorrow. If guests are to start coming here, they will need a place to keep their mounts."
"I... suppose it is a good thing we have a cook," she said quietly. She turned to Aldeus, desperate to change the subject; "Sir Aldeus, in exchange for your hospitality, I ask permission to begin work on the stables tomorrow. If guests are to start coming here, they will need a place to keep their mounts."
