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Rowan stood to one side as the woman spoke to Master Boffin. ‘So thin!’ she whispered to Penny, drawing the other lass close. ‘Needs a bit of fattening up, don’t you think?’ Her eye was caught by the little girl who snuffled her nose as she lay on the woman’s shoulder. Her daughter, if she’d heard right.
Poor, wee mite! she thought to herself as she smiled up at the girl. She waggled her fingers at the one-eared, love-worn rabbit clutched in the little one’s hand. ‘So, Master Hop-it; or little Mistress, if I’d got it wrong . . . I’m Rowan.’ She smiled widely and dropped a little curtsy. You look a bit cold. How about a nice warm mug of honeyed milk with some little, buttered toast fingers to dip in? Makes your tummy happy, or so my Gran always said to me.’
Rowan nodded her head up at the little girl. ‘And I ‘spose we could do up another mug for your friend there . . . if she’d like one . . .’
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