Wapun Meadow tickle that cheek and take your throne.

Moun fou. 

Anselm stiffened as Etienne rose towards him, golden gaze liquid soft. Anselm was not so charitable. His expression soured as he looked down to the girl, then Fiona. 

Women. Always more trouble than they were worth. And now there were three more mouths to feed than Anselm ever wanted. 

He shared one silent, hard look in Fiona’s direction before giving a grunt in acknowledgement to Etienne. Anselm would have nothing to do with helping a stranger. He turned his back on both, as if to make a point of it. 

Moun fou. He limped away in a stiff legged gait. Though no party could witness it, a scarcely contained affectionate smile threatened to break the stormy countenance of Anselm’s face.