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He could think of no other, no better, no more important role than to fulfill his Prince's commands. Recently, though, Price Daniel had softened a bit around Sir John. Softened not in the way to question the Prince's resolve. Softened to a more personal level. The two were indeed friends, companions and, quite recently, even more than that.On this evening Sir John had returned to his quarters after checking to make sure every guard was in place and prepared for the night watch. Closing the heavy door behind him he sat his shield and sword down. As he walked towards the window he began to loosen the leather straps holding his breastplate on as well as those on the chain mail beneath. Slipping them over his head and stepping out of the remainder of his clothing, the knight stood nude in the fading light casting his gaze out through the window, across the open square to the glowing light of the Prince's private chambers. How he longed to see the Prince just now. He longed for. The girl. For what would it be without one. As soaked as me. Ahead. Bolder, one must admit with a sense of chagrin. Younger, it must be said because everything counts and nothing does. Lovely and perfect regardless.The tent lies ahead, reaching into the sky, circusy and colourful, striped, slanted, big. The edges turned up slightly, bulging down and arcing up, water collected in the distended material, water balloons sighing with envy. She glances back at me, catching my gaze for a second. Something glistens in her eye slightly, from the rain probably; but maybe not. My breath catches slightly in my throat. Not the rain.The bench she leads me to is covered by the tent, but only barely. Wind shifts and rain blows in sideways and up and down and we sit there. Staring at each other. Saying little. She makes this expression. As hard to describe as she is. For what adjectives run together to make a person like her. It's sad, hangdog, heartbreaking. I have no idea why. Or what it means. Or.
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