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Thistle was slightly surprised by Peony's friendly response. Perhaps the lasses these days were better brought up than the lads. Thistle sat down at the table, leaning her cane against the chair.
"My name is Thistle Bracegirdle," she answered, immediately intrigued by her own introduction. It had been years since anyone had called her Thistle; anymore it was always Miz Bracegirdle. Perhaps it was the Peony's introduction; she had seemed ever so thrilled for company, even her own. Perhaps Thistle could associate with the lass more than she ever would have thought.
"Don't worry yourself over an Outsider," Thistle advised. "More trouble than they're worth, usually; don't recognize decent folk when they see them. Don't understand us Shirefolk. And those who them folk do understand tend to be a bit queer in the head. At any rate, I'm sure 'twas nothing you did, lass."
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