A Brief Endeavor to Walk the Fox
The Lord of Carvil pressed his pillow over his ears, trying to block out the incessant pounding at his door. By his estimates, he had exceeded his monthly quota of social interaction by several hundred percent, and he still needed time to recover. Fiona, it seemed, did not share his perception.
“Henry! Come on. You’ve been hidin’ in there for days! Unlock the Rezyn-damned door! Henry-y-y-y!”
The pillow was doing him absolutely no good: no matter how desperately he forced it into either side of his head, Fiona’s voice was still getting through, along with the knocking and the rattling of the doorknob. She had kept it up for what seemed in Henry’s mind to have been well over an hour, and she wasn’t showing signs of tiring. Fiona would have her way.
With a sigh, the mage rolled out of bed and pulled on the first few articles of clothing that he happened across. “Very well, very well,” he groaned. “I’m coming. Leave off the clatter, will you?”
The noise ceased. Henry trudged lethargically to the door, slid back the latch, and opened it. “What do you wa—?”
She stopped him mid-syllable by kissing him on the mouth. Dumbfounded, Henry stumbled backwards a step. “Wh-what…?”
“I want you ta meet me in the courtyard in half an hour,” she stated matter-of-factly, “by which point you will be clean-shaven an’ smell better.”
Self-consciously, Henry brought a hand up to the stubble on his jaw. “But why? Is something happening?”
“We’re goin’ on a walk.”
“Yes. I must get out o’ Carviliet before they drag me off on another bluidy picnic.”
Henry frowned. “Why do you need my company? Can’t you go on your own? Aren’t you one of those independent sorts?”
She punched him gently in the upper arm. “I could go on my own, but then you’d stay here and fuse ta yer bed sheets. Stop lookin’ at me like that, you lazy ape. The fresh air will do you good.”