|
‘No worries, old mother,’ he said, ‘no worries at all.’
My, my! Polite enough for one of the Big Folk, isn’t he? Granny nodded as the fellow turned aside her apology with a soft counter. She watched then as he deftly retrieved his escaping knife.
Bit nervous, though... Penstemon thought to herself as he pulled out a well-travelled apple from his sack and carefully cut it. And careful as well to avoid looking at her; though for what reason she could not fathom. Taking the piece offered she waited as he cut one for himself.
Looks a bit rough around the edges. Granny glanced from the man back to the apple wedge, thinking the same could be said of either. She took a bite, savoring the surprising sweetness of the weathered fruit. ‘My stars! That’s tasty!’ She beamed up at the fellow. ‘Not from the trees round these parts, is it?’
Granny nodded her approval and finished off the slice.
‘Now where’s my manners!? Name’s Penstemon Greenhill....from roundabout here. And who might you be, young man?’
|