Oh pox. This isn't going according to plan. If I ever see that cat again I'll skin it alive and turn it into a furry hat. Gods I hate it when this happens.
I snarl and try to wipe some of the mud off my face, muttering and feeling thoroughly ridiculous. If anyone had seen me now, crouching under a low tree like a common criminal, mud splattered all up my left arm (and my face), I swear I would die of embarrassment. It had all started so promisingly, I'd conjured the cat up and found a fairly auspicious looking place from which to launch my attack. I'd chosen what I presmued to be some sort of supply shed - there'd be plenty of people going in and out and lots of chances to try again if the first attempt went wrong.
However, the cat didn't seem so keen to go along with my plan. When I'd tried to hang the fish-paste covered haddock over the door, the cat hanging around my neck as usual, the blasted creature had sunk it's claws into my shoulder and catapulted itself onto the roof. I'd lost concentration, stopped hovering, and come crashing back to earth with a loud "THUD". What was worse was that I had then spent the next hour chasing the cat across the roof, only to overbalance and land in a large patch of mud on the other side. I never thought there would be mud in such a pristine place as this, but I had to go and find the only one. And I had to land in it too.
"Brilliant. Just brilliant." I mutter, slipping out from under the tree. I decide to go and hunt for some sort of water source - I need to get the grime off my face before anyone sees me.
It takes a bit of wandering around to find anything, but the small outhouse at the back of some sort of stable complex looks to be more than enough to cater for my needs. I'm in like a shot, scrubbing at the caked muck until my face is raw. Satisfied - and rather sore - I leave the outhouse and slope back into the courtyard. When is Ellie coming back? My stomach growls audibly, and the sky overhead is beginning to darken. I whistle through my teeth and scuff at the non-existent dust around my feet.
Being a consort isn't turning out to be all it's cracked up to be.