Sun Mote Copse At last, at last

She spoke true! The melting snow brought mud as it did a gorgeous transition into spring, and already Galathiel had begun to spend his days enjoying the sun's gentle warmth. "If you would be so generous," he bowed his head at her offer. "However, the deer I was hunting is yours now. It would be uncouth of me to stalk it past your borders." Her scent was fresh, the message clear.

Nevertheless, his eyes sparkled, seemingly unbothered that his quarry may have by now escaped into unfamiliar packlands. There would be others, he reasoned; the season was bountiful. "Knight Galathiel," he introduced after a moment, raising his shoulders and offering her a lazy grin in turn. "And who may I have the pleasure of meeting?"