Arenborne

Evening sunlight filtered through the windows of the tavern, small particles of dust floating in the beams of bright light. Arenborn Kolten was sat inside the Sizzling Turtle tavern of Hookworth beside the fireplace, taking advantage of the light from the windows to write in his book. It was one of his many drafts of a letter to his parents. Every time he had tried to write one they had ended up crumpled up and thrown away. They didn’t even know he was knighted, let alone married.

    The day after I had written about the last events had been fruitful in a way.

Together, or not at all.

The words run through Arenborn Kolten’s mind. They blot out most of his thoughts, distracting him from all but the soft fingers locked with his, the fiery red hair resting against his shoulder, and the familiar scent of Inayat, like long grass in the wind.