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Aman and Zimzi were halfway to the old groundskeeper’s cottage when the nearing sounds of laughter and loud voices mixed in with the clip-clop of horses’ hooves caused them to pull up. ‘I’d know that laugh anywhere!’ cried Zimzi, slipping from the back of Felarof.
A few quick steps soon brought her round a turn in the dirt path and into the arms of her two brothers. Sakal swept her up in his grasp and whirled her about, egged on by Azar to twirl her faster. They paid no heed to warnings from their mother to put her down. Nor did the quick sharp command of their father faze them. This was an old game of the three – spin Zimzi about until she could hardly stand when put down, and later try to evade her own little trap she’d set for turnabout.
Felarof, with Aman still astride, had stopped a short ways away from the meeting. He looked on curiously, shaking his head and snorting at the actions of the group. With a great whoop, the brothers set Zimzi on her feet, laughing as she nearly fell. She clung to Azar’s arm and pulled herself up straight, only to note that both her brothers were staring now towards Felarof.
‘Oh, very nice,’ said Sakal. ‘You’ll introduce us, of course,’ followed up Azar, stepping forward.
Derufin had by this time come up and put his arm round Zimzi to steady her. He grinned at Aman, then spoke to the brothers. ‘Introduce you? Be happy to oblige. To the horse, right?’ ‘Fine specimen, lads, comes from pure stock . . .’ he began.
‘Fine specimen, indeed,’ murmured Azar, nudging his brother out of the way as he stepped in front of him.’ ‘Not the horse, you oaf,’ Sakal muttered to Derufin. Derufin’s mouth formed a mock ‘O’ of surprise.
Zimzi laughed catching the object of her brothers’ glances at last. ‘This is my friend, Mistress Aman, the Innkeeper of The Green Dragon.’ She pointed toward her grinning siblings. ‘And these, Aman, are my dear brothers . . . Azar and Sakal.’
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