Ossinett

Silver stained the knights lips and tongue as he spoke, flecks of liquid starlight escaping from the gaps in his teeth and the corners of his mouth. Both Ser Maynard and his stallion were barded in pink and purple, chequey fabrics with long, trailing dags that were cut to resemble moons in crescent - more mummer than mercenary in every way. When he spoke it was high pitched but stern, it seemed to Ser Cledwyn to be a failing battle to sound serious with an outfit like that. H

The branches of the weeping willow drooped low in the constant heat, their tips gently grazing the water of the moat. Mal sat in its shade, watching the mayfly and dragonfly dart the summer water, and looked high from the mound at the keep ahead of her. Behind her was carved initials into the tree's bark, she pretended not to see her sister's handywork. She could hear Reece and Cledwyn sparring beyond the castle wars, exchanging vile insults that would have them fed soap by t