Somehow he had separated from the voluptuous young woman beneath the willows (
@Aerasha), more than likely ditched by her on purpose considering how ridiculous and overbearing he could be.
He did not let himself mope for too long though. His father would never have approved such displays of emotion, and while Tiffany was free enough to let himself feel what he wished, dream what he dared, and pursue whatever avenue lay open to him - he could not shake the feeling that he was a disappointment to the man. By now the Lord and Lady of Cairn-Dyfed would be wondering what became of him. And should word return to them that he was here, crying woefully to himself in the wilderness, having lost his first proper charge as a knight, well -- that would not do. Stiff upper lip, and all of that.
And so we come to Tiffany now. He is sniffling, and would eagerly assert that it was merely the biting winter wind affecting his eyes; that maybe he has become so downtrodden as a rogue that he is set upon by illness. He would not openly weep - he was a man, a knight, after all - however, Tiffany was oblivious to the fey woman drifting through the wood. After one particularly loud
snnnkksn of his sniffling snout, it would be nearly impossible for him to pass by without being found.
Am I a terrible person for forgetting Tiffany is mine.. . . ....
The softest of whispers crept to his ears and startled him; enough so that he sucked back a breath and with it, some snot. This collected at the back of his throat and resulted in a moment of dissonance as he began to cough and choke - but it did not last. The man composed himself (through dripping eyes and leaking nostrils) enough to look upon the radiant creature as she found him; he could not help but trace his gaze across her eyes: one the color of a moody sunset sky, the other argent and pale, but both equally lovely.
How fortuitous! How fortunate! Oh, he could weep anew over this discovery - this beauty, blessing him with her presence. She was like the fey of the old stories. A faded coat with striking darkness contrasted. Was she good, or was she evil?
An awful thought from an awful man! He recited to himself - for how dare Tiffany think anything was amiss when someone so sweet of face and soft of voice would come to his aid? He was enthralled. And good thing, too - else he might have opened his mouth and made more of a fool of himself.
Alas, he realized he had been silent in his regard of her, and began to bumble over an explanation:
Oh-- sw-sweet fay -- mistress, thou art kind to worry after me.
He did not know what to say, or what to do! Was she here to tempt him? She was doing a fine job whether it was intentional or not. Was she a figment of his lonely heart, a compulsion produced in the manner of a winter mirage? He could not tell, for she was too fine to look upon for long - and soon he was staring at the dirt and sniffling once more.