Childhood Memories [Rossana]

[Leander]

Unumber 5th
22nd hour

Emerging from a random alleyway came the figure of a cat, stopping only briefly. Eyes, big and round, cast a sweeping glance about, taking in the scene. There was honestly no scene to speak of. Night was not a time humans spent taking casual strolls and most would now be sleeping safe within their respective homes. Blinking, Leander trotted across the street, his tail close to the ground and his head slightly inclined. His presence within the inner parts was not necessarily unusual, even though he by habit no longer ventured there, as he still felt a sense of belonging. It would take a lot to take that away from him. Still, he preferred to make sure no-one found his presence a threatening one. Hence the slightly sneaky, apologetic manner of moving around. Most Guardians would be full awake and about, and there was no doubt in his mind someone was keeping a watchful eye on him as he made his way.

To be honest there was a goal, rooted deep in his mind, toward which he was heading. It had been a highly frequented place in his childhood, one he associated with simple joy. Due to him eventually growing up and thus coming of age, Leander had had to leave that playful part behind. Now he wanted to see if things had changed. Or, he knew they had. Despite being an outcast and no longer granted the freshest gossip, he picked up snippets here and there. So he knew the place would now be lacking an individual it most certainly had been in possession of earlier, and that this had taken its toll on the one in the household he knew best. Not long after, he found himself at the entrance of the stable. A small window proved a point of entry. Once inside, he balanced on the rafters before jumping down and settling on the wall next to a much larger animal. An animal that did not seem to care of his presence, though a little curious right after the small ‘thump’ that betrayed his arrival.

For a moment, Leander resolved to take the interior in, much as he had when he was smaller, a bit passive on what to do next. Merely being there had a soothing effect, as if he in some obscure way belonged. Shaking the feeling of, he elegantly landed on the floor and transformed. It was a feeling one would think he could adjust to, but why on earth anybody would put themselves through that much pain time and time again eluded him. He still did though. Always had. He did not really belong anywhere anymore, so either of his forms felt right. Rising, he suddenly found himself scrutinized by the horse that had dismissed him so fast earlier. Now the four-legged creature did not quite know what to think and began moving around, oblivious to the noise it was making. “Hm, calm down,” the man tried, his voice hoarse from not having been used in a while. Obviously, that did not help. “Caaaaalm dooooown.” The second attempt did not even grant him a look. His futile hope the horse would somehow adore him from the very start ebbed away.

In the middle of all of this, Leander became aware he was naked. This should not surprise him, as clothes did not really transform all that well, but he suddenly heard a noise from the house.. And that might turn awkward. Remembering he had seen a trunk in the corner, he opened it hoping to find something he could simply toss around his figure. The astonishment at finding real, wearable, rather nice clothing was subdued by the fact that whoever was approaching did so fast, and he had just managed to pulled on a pair of ill-fitting breeches and buttoned a frock coat as another entered the room.

[Rossana Doyle]

The winter nights were cold, but Rossana's cottage was a small one and well warmed by the fire in its simple hearth. She chased away the chill with a thick cotton nightgown, wool blankets, and a quilt her grandmother had made when she was a young woman and Rossana's own father a suckling babe. Here she felt safe, despite the fact that nothing but four simple walls kept the wild at bay. The apothecary faced town and there were other buildings and cottages a stone's throw away, but it was backed by one of the valley's wide meadows and was barely a mile from the woods. A modestly sized but lovely greenhouse took up some of the meadow, a small stable with three stalls squatted next to the house and occupied another portion. Some of the wildflowers and grasses had been cleared away to make a small field on which to grow the less fragile plants in the warmer months and what was left of the meadow was a fenced in paddock.

In the warmth of the small two room cottage, wrapped in her blankets, Rossana Doyle stirred and awoke. She was not sure what had taken sleep from her and sat up slowly, her auburn locks mussed and ocean blue eyes glassy with sleep. Her eyes adjusted to the low guttering light that came from the dying embers in the fireplace. There was but the faintest chill from the wind outside, but the slim young woman, who had just removed herself from her bedding, shivered and brought her grandmother's quilt up about her shoulders as she tried to puzzle out what had disturbed her. At first she heard nothing, then there was the familiar sound of Apollo's hooves sounding through the wall. Not in fear, but he was definitely awake and there was something keeping him that way. She doubted it was a wolf or the big stallion's bugling and thrashing would have awakened her as well as all the homes within a quarter mile of the apothecary. Perhaps a board had come loose in the wind or she had not latched the stable door properly. Rossana sighed: she didn't particularly savor the idea of going out at night, but she couldn't leave Apollo restless in his stall, so she swung her feet over the bed. Her feet hit the ground and she wriggled her toes at the cold before she slipped her feet into her boots. They were quite unladylike things, but they were beautifully made and she loved them and didn't care if they weren't delicate and fashionable. She only ever wore womanly shoes when she went out to town. Tonight it wouldn't matter - there was no one but Apollo to notice her mannish footwear. And Apollo was guaranteed not to care. The olive skinned young woman stood, rubbing an eye sleepily with one hand, then smothering a yawn as her other grabbed a riding cloak from a chair nearby. Still in her nightgown, with her leather boots sticking out from underneath it along with several inches of bare shin, her russet hair in disarray and only a cloak to cover it all, she sought out a thick candle and lit it with the small embers, which she added a few slender logs to. Almost as an afterthought, she retrieved her father's hunting knife from a shelf and took it with her. Just because there wasn't a wolf in the stable didn't mean one couldn't show up. The embers hissed happily and began to smolder as she walked out of her warm cottage and into the cold black winter's night. A few cautious steps around the house brought her to the stable and she frowned slightly, finding the door closed. She shivered, bundling the cloak more tightly around her lithe figure and reaching out a hand to open the stable doors. The hand beneath her cloak clutched the knife and she tried to ignore the puffs of steam her breath made. At least the cold was waking her up. Normally she would have walked around the stable to check for swinging boards, but she could check from the inside too and at night here, indoors was always better.

What is it, Apollo, carino mio.

She said as she walked into the stable, her voice still a little fuzzy with sleep. At first, she did not notice that anything was out of place, for she was more concerned with placing her candle in the lantern by the door, but then the light from the little flame exposed the opened trunk and the naked footprints on the floor. Rossana bit back a startled yelp and stepped involuntarily back, the lantern swinging in her hand, her cerulean eyes scanning the shadows of the barn wildly, crossing over her handsome black friesian first. Apollo was fine, but his ears twitched and his gaze seemed focused on the corner of the stable where she kept his tack and brushes. Instinctively, her eyes tracked to the same spot and she held the lantern out, taking another stumbling step back as she caught sight of a tall man, barefooted and barely clothed standing in her stable. He had gone through the chest of clothing and what little he was wearing had been her father's. If she hadn't been so terrified she would have been furious . There was something about his eyes that was familiar, but she was tired and scared now and she wasn't about to think about whether or not she might know him. Not when he was trespassing and she was alone in the dark. She would not even have time to scream and no one lived quite close enough to hear her smothered cries. Her eyes darted around and she swallowed, her throat drying quickly in her nervousness.

Damn her lack of observance! Apollo's stall was a few feet too far away to reach in time. If she loosed the big stallion he'd protect her: he had done so once before, when a traveler had been passing through Benevolence. The grubby man had a big dog, an ugly smelly cur with a stout slobbering muzzle and big fangs. One day, the traveler had gotten drunk one afternoon at the Nine Wands and thought it funny to sic his dog on the first horse and rider passing by, which happened to be Rossana and Apollo. Rossana had screamed as the giant mutt rushed them, but Apollo had loosed a fighting stallion's scream, pinned his ears and lashed out with one of his big hooves like a war horse. He snapped the dog's leg and five of its ribs and both canine and man were sent firmly on their way. The villagers of Benevolence did not take kindly to public menaces, even if the menace was a pet. But Apollo was in his stall and could not help her now.

Under her cloak, she gripped the hunting knife tighter, her hand clammy with sweat. Her fingers felt like they were full of live ants. She had heard stories of things that happened to women who were caught by cruel men at night, but she had thought those were city stories. Stories that couldn't come true in a small town like Benevolence. Rossana did not reveal the big knife in her hand, something of her fighting Roman ancestors coming through perhaps, telling her that if she kept the blade hidden she would have the element of surprise. And though Miss Rossana Doyle was a tomboy and knew how to use the hunting knife in her hand, she was still a tiny woman who had never been in a fight in her life facing a man easily a foot taller than her who could overpower her in minutes. Surprise was the only thing she had on her side.

What are you doing here? She demanded, keeping almost all of the tremulousness from her sweet voice. What do you want?

[Leander]

The voice arrived before the body, and it was a voice of kindness; had it not been for the fact that he was trespassing on somebody else’s property, Leander would have probably stolen time for a quiet smile at the sound. It was not addressed to him, of course, but attempting to soothe the restless horse. Had he been able to produce such a tone, then perhaps he would have been successful in calming it himself. Being as he was a man simply occasionally and spent the rest of his time a cat, he had not acquired that skill. Most animals found him likeable, save dogs, but that did not mean he was any good with them. The woman – for it was a woman, definitely – seemed to know what she was doing, though there was a trace of sleepiness in there, as well as a foreign language at the end.

And there was something very familiar about it, as if he had heard it in a dream long ago. Since he was well aware where he was and why he had come here, he had not really expected it to be somebody else. At the same time, he had not come there prepared to actually meet her. That had perhaps been a nagging at the back of his head, but never a conscious thought. Last time they had met was ages ago, when they were just kids. Or, once since then, simply in passing, exchanging startled looks and a nod of recognition. Before then he had been too consumed by his own story to recall a lost friend, but meeting her again like that made him wonder what had happened in her life. After all, he no longer knew anything about her. Save that she still lived here, managed the apothecary and kept company with none but her horse. Which, when put like that, seemed like a lot.

The first thing he noticed was that, well, she had grown. He remembered her as the little girl who indulged his whims toward human games. Now she was a woman. The rest of his observation was cut short by the fact that she noticed he was there. And he, for obvious reasons, had not been part of her plan. It was almost painful to watch her reaction, as Leander could imagine what it must look like. Finding a strange man dressed in a relative’s clothing in your horse’s stable. Late at night. Instinctively, he lowered his chin somewhat and opened his palms by his sides. At least he could have the courtesy to show he was not carrying any weapons, and hopefully the posture would convey he meant her no harm. Whether she was any good at reading body signs, however, remained to be seen.

Inside, Leander cursed himself for deciding to get dressed in human clothing instead of simply returning to his cat form. It would have been infinitely easier had he simply been an animal right now. Cats were charming. Everybody in this town loved the cats. An oversized man in a barn… not so much. Now that he had made this awful choice though, the temptation to talk to her was too huge for him to pass by. That, and the fact that the door through which he would have to run remained closer to her. And simply scramming past her definitely sealed any future opportunity to meet her. He had not talked to anyone in the longest time. Just once…

“I…” he started, finding once more he had to cough a bit in order to make sense. This was not going to be easy. He could not exactly afford to be honest either. Not that she would have believed him had he tried that approach. “I don’t know.” Well, that was as close to the truth as he could go. “I’m sorry, I know what this looks like, but… It is cold out and I had no place to go and the forest is hardly an alternative.” The expression of mild pain on his face was not even faked. At least he was the owner of a sincere voice. Rough, but sincere. Not wanting to disturb her further, if that was at all possible, yet still remind her, he added, “I used to come her when I was little.” He searched her face for some kind of recognition. “To play games.”

[Rossana Doyle]

The man spread his big hands to indicate that he meant no harm, but still she watched him suspiciously, trying to adjust her grip on the knife without moving the cloak and drawing his attention to her absent left hand. His posture indicated no threat, but logic kept her from being cavalier: half naked men trespassing in barns were seldom a good thing, no matter what they tried to tell you. If he realized she was hiding her hand, he might easily guess that she was hiding something. At least I know he has no weapons. It occurred to her that this was an advantage she would have if he attacked her, however slight. He spoke, his voice hoarse from disuse and the observational part of her noted that there were no clothes besides her fathers in the stable, therefore the stranger must have been naked. She thanked her guardian angel that she had not walked in any earlier. More to the point, she asked herself, what was a tall and (she had to admit to herself) handsome, but naked man doing in Benevolence. At night no less! Where the devil could he have come from, she wondered? And why was he in her barn?!

"I used to come here when I was little. To play games."

He said and she stopped and looked at him again, realizing for the first time that despite his leanness and his tired eyes, he was not much older than she. If that were true and she had known him as a child, he must have been one of the villagers but he was not. She did not understand. Her beryl eyes, now free of sleep, searched his face, snagging once more on his own eyes, remembering their slight familiarity. How she knew him, she was not certain, but there was something about his face that tickled in her memory and would not go away. Involuntarily, her voice quieter this time, she asked.

Who are you? What is your name?

[Leander]

There was not a lot of recognition in her eyes, though it seemed she did try to find out where in her memory he was supposed to fit. She was not the only one who had changed, and it was not strange if he remember her better than she remembered him. After all, Leander had not played with more than a handful of humans, and to this day he could name them all, where they lived and their current occupation. Whereas she, being a human herself, would have probably had more playmates, and since then he had disappeared from the face of the earth. And grown. He was no longer a lanky twelve-year-old; he was six foot three and a lot more serious than the last time he had been there. Of course, a factor in all this was that last time he had been invited and met with some enthusiasm. This time, he had definitely not been invited, and the expression on her face was not one of enthusiasm. Far from it.

In order to answer her question, he had to remember the name he had taken on as a kid. Since it was the villagers that had named him Leander, perhaps she had heard of the cat of the same name. She would in all likelihood not make the connection, but he could hardly take the risk either. So he had been told, and therefore he had used... Leonard. It must have been that. It was close enough to his real name for him to turn if someone shouted it, and had been quite effective. Also, it was not a strange and uncommon name, though not as usual as, say, Christian. He had liked it. “My name is Leonard.” Looking her straight in the eye, he continued, “I used to be the fastest in tag..?” Of course he had been. Humans were inferior what physical condition was concerned. Perhaps it could be labelled cheating.

Now he would have to come up with a reason for, well, being there. He had not given her anything specific yet. Simply that it was cold out and he needed warmth, but that hardly explained why he had at all been running around naked in the first place. “I am a merchant now,” he started, speaking a bit slowly to let his brain catch up, so that it would make a little bit of sense. “And I was travelling through the woods when I was attacked by wild animals.” Oh, this might fast turn ludicrous. But the villagers did know there was something in the forest, and it was a more plausible solution than him trying to convince her someone in Benevolence had robbed him. “It was close enough to the tree-line for me to run here. I doubt my horse survived though.” Should she ask, he would say he got stuck under the animal, hence having to undress in order to get away. All in all, he hoped she refrained from asking. “I understand your distress, and if you want, I can leave.”

[Rossana Doyle]

"My name is Leonard."

He said, and proceeded to tell her about childhood games of tag and how he had moved from the village since. All the while, she studied his face, trying to pick out the features of a boy she would once have known. It was quite likely, if he was a merchant, that his family had passed often through Benevolence and stayed for a month at a time, but not permanently. Then Leonard would have been a childhood playmate of hers. She had never had many constant playmates: only Bess had been truly close. Now she tried to remember, calling to mind names and some faces long set aside. Kitty McKay, who was younger than her and still lived in the village. Erick Bell who, of course as heir to the Bell properties, lost interest in childhood fancy sooner than the girls. There were the Bell sisters as well, but they had been too entranced by frilly bows and dolls and even then their high girlish voices had been a little too loud for Rossana. She preferred quiet Bess and sometimes the two of them would take Mercy outside and Rossana would bring Apollo along and teach Mercy how to help her groom the big horse and feed him wild grasses yanked from the meadows. Sweet Mercy had always loved this, for she was not regularly allowed around animals. Her family considered it dangerous because of her blindness. There had been Edwin and Mary, the copper haired twins whose parents were tinkers from the north, tall pretty Gwendolen with her straight amber hair and honey colored eyes. And there had been, Leonard a lanky blonde boy with defiant eyes who would appear to play games out of nowhere in the evenings and vanish like smoke by dinnertime. Leonard! She did remember him, she thought suddenly and his eyes caught her attention again. They were road weary and tired eyes, she thought, but eyes she recognized all the same. He had been a good looking boy and was an even better looking man, she thought before she could stop herself, then brushed those considerations away.

And I was travelling through the woods when I was attacked by wild animals. It was close enough to the tree-line for me to run here. I doubt my horse survived though.”"


Wild animals! She did not doubt that it had been the wolves of the forest, that were rumored to be evil spirits or cursed. She did not doubt that it had been them, just as she did not doubt that those were the same creatures that had taken her father from her. He was not dangerous, she was almost certain of it now. This man had been a childhood playmate and while she had to admit that she knew only of the twelve year old Leander and nothing of the weary eyed young man he had become, she felt in her gut that while he might not be telling her the whole truth, he meant her no harm. If he had meant her harm, he could certainly have hurt her before now, but he had not. She relaxed, but did not let go of the hunting knife beneath her cloak. If he had been attacked by the beasts, then the murderous creatures were about in the night. They did not come near the town for fear of the cats, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She felt pity for Leonard, a boy she had once known and a man she might come to know again. Rossana missed her childhood and everything about it, for her childhood had included both her parents. Her only concern now was to help an old friend.

Gods, you poor man! Is there anything I can do for you? I will let you stay here for the night and bring you blankets. Food if you want, though I have little prepared. There is no one else to cook for anymore. What of your horse?

Naturally, Rossana would be concerned for the horse. Plants and horses were her life and she loved the big animals as most women did children.

I shall have the village send a man or two to search for it in the daylight. Just in case it was not killed. Oh, gods, your poor horse! What was it? A mare, gelding, or stallion? What breed and how many hands, what color? She peppered him with questions, her brows knit with concern. In her worry for him and the animal she believed to be in danger, she ceased to think about gathering the heavy cloak to cover her nightgown. The hunting knife in her left hand was exposed, as was the pale blue cotton of the nightgown and the big leather boots. It was night and she wore no stays, so the soft curves of her breasts and hips shaped the fabric. A breeze ruffled the cotton and she blushed a little, grasping at the cloak again to regain a little modesty. I am sorry. She said, apologizing for her exposure and for her barrage of questions simultaneously. Still, she could not help but think that this was like one of her adventure stories, with intrigue and mystery and a little bit of scandal. It would simply help in finding the horse if it is alive. She amended quickly. Her wide eyes met his for a moment, then shied away, then returned to meet his gaze and she extended her hand tenuously. I am Rossana Doyle, in case you do not remember me from our games.

[Leander]

Upon the mentioning of his name she seemed to search his face even more. His eyes appeared to give her most feedback, as she kept looking into them while concentrating. And the expression when she finally remembered made him warm up inside. Had she not recalled him at all, it may have bulked his ego. Admittedly his ego was not a big one, but everybody would find it a tad depressing to not be recollected. “I am fine,” Leander replied to her concerns. “A few bruises and a bit tired, but otherwise in one piece.” The invitation, what should he do with that? Well, he should decline, say it was nice of her but that he did not want to be an imposter, but his reply was out before he could stop it. “If it is not too much trouble, I would simply like some… water.” Quickly, he added, “You do not need to house me or feed me, I can find a tavern. I do not wish to trouble you any further. I believe I already scared you and for that I am sorry.”

Then came what he did not need to be asked. Questions about his alleged steed. Hands? What about hands? Horses did not have hands. They had hooves. Had he not talked to humans in such a long time that while he had been busy running around as a cat, they had come up with a new synonym for hooves? No, it did not seem very likely. All the questions were confusing him. First of, having people search for an imaginary horse would yield no results. Given they assumed it had been fully devoured there would still not be a trace of blood anywhere, if a deer had not been slain by chance. And that was a bit too much to hope for. The credibility of his story would fall to pieces. Then again, if she was expecting to talk to him in the morrow and he was nowhere to be found – which he obviously would not be, neither on two feet or four paws – then regardless of the horse-conundrum, the tale he spun would collapse on itself. Really, it was hopeless. All he could do was deal with what was happening right now, and then find some nifty reason later. That seemed good enough, given the circumstances.

He had to answer her many inquiries though. Instead of answering specifically, he decided it would be better to take a different approach. “I had only recently purchased her, as my last one died of old age a few days ago.” His gaze shifted to the floor, to somehow convey sadness. Oh my. “To be quite frank I am not enlightened enough to specify the breed, but she was a big… grey. And very loyal. Had the wolves not gone for her first, I believe she would have saved me.” Here Leander raised his eyes again, meeting hers and smiling sadly. “I am alive, and for that I should be grateful.” To him, this seemed perfectly fine. As a merchant travelling around, he would be expected to use a horse, with or without carriage, but that did not necessarily mean he would be able to discern one breed from the other. Size and durability mattered. Still he had tried to imply he was somehow also emotionally attached to his fictitious now-deceased animal, as judging by her concern that was a perfectly natural reaction.

It did not feel right lying to her like this, when she just wanted his wellbeing. But he could not be honest, and he had yet to make any unnecessary lies. An outcast he might be, but Leander was not about to sit her down to tell her about Guardians and Gewin either. His string of thoughts was cut short by the fact that all of a sudden, he could see quite a lot more of her figure. What he saw did not displease him, he noticed with a small hint of panic, and he turned his head away just as she closed the cloak once more. “Do not be sorry, you are simply being kind. More so than I could possibly hope for.” How she had gotten a bit embarrassed after both the questions and the accident with the cloak caused his lips to tug lightly upward; it was very charming. “Leonard…” A surname! He did not have a surname! “…Wallace.” He took her hand gently, inclining his head. So lithe in his, her hand was warm and the touch tingled down his arm. He had not touched anyone as a human for a long time.

[Rossana Doyle]

Perhaps the horse had escaped, she thought optimistically. If the mare was big even a wolf would have trouble bringing it down. It would take a whole pack, and the strange thing about the wolves of Branborough was their solitary nature. She had heard rumor that other wolves were family creatures, traveling in groups and taking down prey together. Here, it was a rare and terrifying thing to hear tell of even two of the wolves traveling in tandem. She gave him a small smile.

Perhaps she got away. If she was a strong horse, a wolf would have had difficulty bringing her down. Then a problematic thought occurred to her. If she's gotten away, then you'll probably never see her again. I hope she was not carrying valuables that will be difficult to replace.

Thank heavens, he was a gentleman and had the courtesy to avert his eyes when he noticed her embarrassment. He had been a kind, if solemn boy and he seemed to still be that way as a man. She was glad he had made no mention of the hunting knife or her scant clothing and forgot about her nervousness immediately at the warmth of his hand. It was big and rough from work, but warm and not unpleasant. Leonard Wallace. It was a fine name. She did not remember his last name from her childhood, but did not think on that. Surnames had not been important in the least those years ago.

There is a pump outside, but I shall have to go inside to get you a cup. She said, drawing away and responding to his earlier request for water. Now that she was quite certain he would do her no harm, she could make up for her appearance and hostility, she hoped. An outsider might not question a woman's fear of an intruder at night, but they would not understand that the reasons of a Benevolencian would be different than those of a native of London or Cambridge. I hope I can make up my hostility to you. But you must understand how it must be for a woman alone. The petite young woman turned towards the stable door, thinking how strange it was that they should meet again and under such unlikely circumstances. Strange, but good, she amended, as she cast a glance over her shoulder and gave the big man a wry grin. Still, I would not recommend hiding in barns at night in any case. It gives the wrong impression. Why and how she felt comfortable with ribbing him, when for so long she had only done so with Gareth Cleaver and Bess was beyond her, but she felt and implicit sense of trust for the tall pale skinned man standing half dressed in her stable.

[Leander]

He drew the conclusion she was very fond of horses. Not that it was hard – there was not a lot of guesswork involved. The fact she woke up to check on her animal simply because it was moving around in its stall showed it well. He liked that. As a Guardian, it appealed to him that humans had qualities that were worth protecting. He had never doubted it, being almost equally as close to his human side as his cat, but whenever it shone through like this, he became proud of his own species. She also tried to reassure him. “If she is well and has managed to run away, I would rather that then the other alternative. Even though she did carry all my items.” What she said gave him hope, yet not with regards to the horse. It was true how it might have run away. That was a very nifty excuse should they find no body or blood. There would be no traces though… Still, all in good time.

The fact she was carrying a knife had not eluded him, but he did not find that a threat. He had faced Gewin multiple times, so a petite woman with a small blade did not scare him significantly. Had she chosen to use it he would merely have found it sad. Forcing someone like her to do something that harsh seemed a violation of nature. Which is why, instead of disturbing her life further, he should just slip out when she was getting him a cup. No matter how often these thoughts struck him however, he knew he would not do it. It was not often he got to speak with humans, and he knew her. Or, had known. And could get to know again. If he could find some plausible reason for him being unreachable during daytime, they might even get to meet again. That outlook pleased him.

She was a pretty woman, there was no doubt about it. Why she decided to lock herself in her routines could only be blamed on the death of her father, but since she brought a weapon with her to go check on her horse, he could tell she was not completely withdrawn from the world around her. “Your hostility was nothing but natural, given the circumstances,” he said reassuringly, now unsure whether to follow her or not. He could hardly assume she wanted him to, so he simply took a few steps forward and tried to make it seem natural that he stopped, so she would not find him intruding even further. “I have definitely learnt my lesson,” he smiled to her saying he should avoid barns from now on. “Still, I think my first time went well enough. Otherwise this chance encounter might never have been.” Now, that was as far as he could afford being jokingly and flirty. “How have you been doing since last we met?” This caused him to smile once more. It was a bit absurd, phrasing the question like that. He would rather have asked about her father, expressing his condolences, but the mood had just lightened considerably and he did not want to set it back.

[Rossana Doyle]

She couldn't help it, she smiled as she walked out to retrieve his water, and while the expression was fleeting it was genuine. It did not take long for her to find one and fill it with water from the pump outside the stable doors. As she reached for the door handles she hesitated, overcome by the sudden uncanny certainty that he would not be there when she opened the door. This meeting was too unworldly, too fantastical, too.....too everything to be real. She shook her head, giving a quiet snort of laughter at her idiocy. Of course he would be there: he was a man, flesh and blood and bone and he was no more capable of disappearing into thin air than Apollo was.

Slipping back into the stables, her cloak wrapped tightly about her in one hand and the cup of water in the other (She had quickly belted on the hunting knife's sheath when she got the cup for Leonard. He might not be dangerous, but if there were wolves about, she wasn't about to leave it behind.), she glanced up at Leonard.

"I have been well enough." She said in response to his question before she had gone, and proffered the cup of water in one slender hand. "It's just me in the house now...but I do just fine on my own. The apothecary is doing good business and I play midwife to the horses and cows of the town." She avoids saying "dead" "lost" "gone": uttering such absolute words as that will make her uncomfortable. Then she rushes on, not wanting to dwell on her losses, however many years old they may be. "I don't know if you remember Elizabeth Bell, but she and I are still very good friends. Errol Eldridge is exactly the same," She says with a laugh. "only taller now. Mr. Cleaver - do you remember we used to run over there to try and get Benjamin Benson to play, but he never would - he is still a gruff old bachelor." Rossana was surprised at the enthusiasm in her voice: she and Leonard had been good friends once, until he had disappeared. For no reasons she could think of, it was as easy to talk to him as it had been when they were twelve.

[Leander]

As she slipped out, he quickly spun around but stopped and resolved to simply glare intently at the window through which he had come. He would not have time. Passing through the area several times, both as human and as cat, Leander had to a certain extent mapped out the property. And the pump was situated close to the stable doors, in all likelihood since its primary use was retrieving water for the horse. Which meant she would be quick. That was not the main reason he did not try to shift fast and be out there. So, when she returned, he was standing at the exact same place she had left him, still with that faint friendly smile and attentive eyes. Taking the water and inclining his head thankfully, he took a sip simply for show before tuning in again. He was not really thirsty. Right before he came here he had drunk from a small pond at the outskirts of the village.

When she started talking about her various duties, Leander came to realize she had grown in psyche too, not only physically. It was not as if this came as a surprise to him, most people tended to have their mind tag along when their body grew, but she did not just tidy the garden and keep her horse; she had expanded beyond that, and that was surely more than could be said about most of the females in this village. And still there was that spark of childishness when she starter reminiscing about their earlier days and various playmates. Her enthusiasm inspired a small laugh from him, it was contagious. “I do, I do remember. Perhaps Eldridge the best, he was a quick one.” It was strange, talking about them like this, as if he had not seen them in years, when in truth he had never left town. In kicks of nostalgia he had even searched them out to watch them grow up, placed on the sideline to simply observe and long instead of taking part in it all.

“I have been through Benevolence a couple of times but even though I might have faintly recognized some of them, I have perhaps changed more.” He could really discard the ‘perhaps’ at the end, it was totally unnecessary. Compared to Rossana he felt old and tired and worn and useless, but with this light mood those facts were carelessly tossed aside. A fact that could not be as easily thrown away however, was how cold it was getting. The ill-fitting clothes were not too warm, and as he exhaled a small cloud of smoke emerged from his nose. Fur was definitely preferable to human skin. She did not seem too warm herself, still not fully dressed, and even though Leander had been outside in much worse weather, warmth was preferable if they were to have a longer conversation. Which they hopefully would. “I do not mean to be a bother,” he started, finding it annoying to excuse himself all the time. He did not necessarily have to, yet it would definitely be rude to not be humble, he had broken into her barn after all. “But it is getting colder and I doubt there are any stores open at this hour…” What would be polite to suggest here? “Could we possibly continue our conversation someplace warmer? I can go find a tavern now if that is preferable, but I’m finding it hard to halt our conversation.” A warm smile followed this statement.

[Rossana Doyle]

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Rossana exclaimed, her big blue eyes almost comically wide with embarassment. She may have grown up a tomboy and be Branborough's youngest recluse, but she had been brought up by her mother to know how to be a lady if she ever chose to behave as such. If anything, she was afraid that if her mother were looking down at her from the starry heavens above, she would be sighing and shaking her head. Tomboy or not, manners were manners! "Here I've been prattling on and on like a stupid mockingbird, not even realizing you might be cold!"

It crossed her mind that it would be highly improper for her, an unmarried young woman, to invite an unmarried young man (at least she assumed he was unmarried for the lack of a wedding band on his strong hands) into her house and at night no less! Che fai, Rossana?! She asked herself, but the rebel-tomboy little girl in her put its hands on its hips and refused to be swayed. Leonard was coming inside, damn it all! After all, grown-up Rosie reasoned helpfully with herself, it would be more rude to make the poor gentleman walk all the way to a pub in ill-fitting clothes after what he's been through! Propriety could hang itself for one night.

The slim young woman leaned over and planted a reassuring kiss on her horse's velvety nose, then snagged the lantern she had hung on a hook earlier before heading once again for the stable doors. A fleeting expression of worry clouded her azure eyes: bringing an outsider and a man into her cottage was nearly societal suicide, but she would be damned if she'd make a victim of the vicious wolves walk about alone at night! Turning a sweet smile on Leonard, she leaned into the door and opened it with her shoulder, offering, "Come inside the cottage then? It really won't be any trouble at all. I wouldn't want you about when the wolves are."

[Leander]

Her discomfort caused him some amusement, and a teensy bit of distress. He had not been around fully-grown humans a whole lot, and even though he seemed to be doing great so far, it could all turn really fast. Admittedly, he had on occasion spent time on two legs simply to tell the days apart. But it had spun far out of control. Conversations with these memories bursting through got him involved. And still, quite present in his mind, was the knowledge he had probably wanted this for a long while. So whatever it was that he was doing, Lenard was set on enjoying it. Joy mixed with terror. Rossana was pleasant, and friendly. She was making it easy. Simply the way she said goodbye to her steed caused him to smile.

After the last words slipped from her mouth, Leonard smiled once more, though this time an ironic, bitter version. It faded quickly into a pleasant, albeit faked, one. She had no idea how much she would want him to be around if the wolves came. Not that he could turn in front of her; that would not be a good idea. Still, he wagered even if he was pure human he would be considerably stronger than her. His chances of succeeding in case of an attack were not good, simply better. But they were still inside the town’s borders, and in order for them to be attacked, the Gewin would first have gotten through the Guardians patrolling the perimeter. Regardless of his falling from grace, Leander was hundred percent sure his fellows did their job.

Reverting from this pensive mood, he said, “I have heard it is indeed unwise to go against a lady’s wish.” A bit more elegantly than one would gather from his build, he slipped through the opening she was making and turned to hold it as she exited. Just as the door closed, a wind swept down and tugged at his borrowed frock coat, lifting it at the edges. It sent a chill through his spine, which it should not. Stopping, Lenard frowned and carefully inhaled again. The smell was all too familiar, but also very faint and probably nothing to worry about it. Still, he reached out to carefully touch Rossana’s shoulder to have her hurry to the house. He did not let his hand linger after the brief brush, but let it hover an inch or two behind her back so as not to make her uncomfortable. “The wind is building up quite a bit. We should hurry inside. Will the door to the stable hold?”

[Rossana Doyle]

His touch was like an electric current and so unaccustomed was she to the touch of a man, even in the most platonic sense (for truth be told, she had yet to be engaged in the least of romantic engagements), that she could not stop her cheeks from flaring rose red for an instant. He meant nothing by it, she was almost certain, but it was a most unusual experience for her. The last man who’d laid a hand on her in any way was Gareth Cleaver and the brawny smithy was her godfather: though the looks he garnered from most any woman could leave her with no doubt that he was very much a man, he was family to her. His embraces were that of a father or an uncle, the smell of leather and sweat, tea and soot that clung to him were the among the scents of home to her, as he was the only family she had left.

Young men her age barely so much as took her hand: there was never and occasion to do more than that. Being a young woman living alone was, while not a scandal, certainly not encouraged. That, combined with her foreign mother was enough to put her under a mite more scrutiny than most of the village girls, so Rossana tried to keep her unsociable and tomboyish habits to herself as much as possible. She got most of her business due to the fact that, first and foremost she was the only apothecary in town and second of all because she was considered, “a proper young woman despite her unfortunate situation and lack of kin.”. Which was, she often thought sarcastically to herself, a delicate way of saying she was respectable even though it was obvious she’d end up the town’s old maid. Not that she minded being left more or less to her own devices. It allowed her the freedom many other young women lacked: the town could watch her ride by on Apollo astride and shake their heads and blame that shameless behavior on the loss of her parents. And none would know that many of her “herb gathering” walks served a dual purpose: checking her trap lines. She had a multitude of other habits which she, of course, kept under wraps, that would only be deemed appropriate for woodland sprites and flighty nymphs in fairy tales: swimming naked, running barefoot in the grass, and other such foolishness. No one knew about her wilder habits, except perhaps, Mr. Cleaver and if he did, he never said a word.

So despite her closet rebellion against society, Rossana was quite the demure young lady in public, well aware that to keep her secret freedoms, she would have to present a flawless face of decorum to the village. It was why this was such a big decision: to grant hospitality to a young itinerant and unmarried man of her own age. But the young Mediterranean beauty wasn’t about to make a harried traveler traipse across town in the dead of night, through the chilling wind in ill fitting clothing, with the danger of wolves ever present. That just wouldn’t do. To hell with society and their cock and bull standards! She thought boldly to herself. To hell in a leaky handbasket! And despite her self affirmations, she felt a constant buzzing in her head at the enormity of the choice she had made. If she were to follow through with this and be caught, she really would have nothing but Apollo and Gareth, gods bless their souls. Rossana had been so caught up in her thoughts it took a few moments to register that Leonard had spoken and another to reply.

”It always has before.” A little smile flutters upon her lips and she marvels at the fact that it found its way there unbidden, all things considered. ”Don’t worry about the stables. Let’s worry about you – any longer out here and you’ll turn blue with cold! I’ll find you some clothes that fit.”
She pushed open the sturdy oak door of her cottage and let them inside, trusting him to shut the door against the wind and moving immediately to stoke the softly glowing embers in the fireplace.

[Leander]

At first, Leander was too busy scouting in the direction of the smell to notice Rossana’s reaction, but once he turned back the reddening of her cheeks was hard to ignore. It caught him off guard completely, and he had to focus so as not to look completely dumbstruck. It was not that he had never been in the present of a woman, human or feline, but he found himself oddly fascinated and perhaps a tad too curious. Mimicking a cat’s reaction, he moved his human ears slightly backward as he tried to assess the situation. Even if he had lived alongside humans his entire life and observed their many customs, finding them both enjoyable and ludicrous, Leander had yet to truly experience them as a grown male. Still it did not elude him why she reacted like this, a fact he mentally jotted down before putting it to the back of his mind.

Before he entered after her, he once more turned around and stared out into the darkness. It was a while since he had seen a Gewyn, but their stench was impossible to forget. As if etched into his nostrils, it was perhaps the one smell he could catch even at its weakest. Letting his frown go, putting on a face of simply mild concern over his supposedly hapless situation and the weather in general, Leander followed the lady inside. The difference in temperature was wonderful, and he felt comfortable quickly, it had a homey feeling. Looking around, he quickly noticed he was already finding spots in which he could easily curl up as a cat, which caused him to shake his head slightly and smile bitterly.

Her voice got his attention back to her frame, as she bustled with the fireplace. “I wouldn’t mind that, if it isn’t too bold of me to say,” he replied with a wan smile, but it faded as he realized she might take it as an insult, and his voice took a hasty note. “I do not mean to imply these clothes are not good enough – quite the opposite; they are of good quality and I am merely quite a few sizes too… big.” Here he trailed off, no longer sure where he was going with it. It occurred to him how much taller than her he was, which made him feel slightly awkward. Combining that with how odd he must look with the small clothes, Leander came the closest to embarrassed he had been in a while. It was a stupid feeling to have.

[thomas]

Hello guys,
Interesting article. The article took a lot of thought, which makes reading it more interesting. I may return and take a look at what else you have to write.

i want also share with you.

One memory that really sticks out in my mind from my childhood is when I got my first skateboard. I remember for weeks after I spent hours upon hours outside on it, and I continue to ride to this day.
It was the day of the party for my 8th birthday. I was outside playing basketball waiting impatiently for people to arrive. As they began to arrive a marveled at all the gifts being brought into the house. The party went slowly by as I waited to open my gifts. When the time finally came to open gifts I remember being disappointed in most of them. I had one gift left to open and judging by the size of it I didn’t think it would be anything good. I opened it up and saw a skateboard.