The White Horse Inn, Act II

[Amanaduial the archer]

To go just after Aylwen's post before last

Tar grinned at Aylwen as she reached up to ruffle his already messy hair, then returned, with an exaggerated sigh, to sweeping the floor, as Aylwen left. But not before he saw her eyes sweep concernedly across his thin body.

Tar knew he must look a state- the clothes he wore at the moment had been, shall we say, 'liberated' from its previous owner yesterday. Aylwen would have a fit if she knew that, but he had been terrified of turning up in the more than a little ragged, worn clothing he had been wearing until then. He cared for her, couldn't pretend that he didn't, but she had such class- he would hate for her to turn her nose up at him. A ridiculous thought really, kind, down to earth Aylwen Dreamsong turning her nose up at Tar, but then, he thought bitterly, it wouldn't be the first time in the past year that one who had proffessed to be his friend had turned their back on him. Looking after Aylwen, his brown eyes soulful and deep, he hoped more than anything that she wouldn't find out why he was like this.