cairistiona's place

When you see this, post a snippet from your works-in-progress.

A moment at the Prancing Pony with Owen Estel Rushlight, Rowlie Appledore and Mat Heathertoes:

“Hutch up, Owen, and let me sit,” Rowlie said, and as he sat, he quick as a wink reached over and snatched the tart away from Owen and acted like he was going to pop it into his mouth.  When Owen yelped a protest, he handed it back and ruffled Owen’s hair.  “Got t’move faster than that if you want to keep your tart safe.”

“Speaking of, has Alice Goatleaf been in yet?” Mat said with a wicked grin as he squeezed in on the other side of the bench.

Owen turned a bright red.  “She ain’t my tart!”

Mat elbowed him .  “Says you, but not says her.  She’s been eyeing you for years, Owen Estel Rushlight.  You best be about askin’ her to dance or there’s no telling what she might do.   Tell her ol’ da’ Harry to keep you locked out o’ Bree, I’m bettin’.”

Owen, if possible, turned an even deeper crimson and said nothing.

“Pay him no mind, Owen,” Rowlie said.  “You no more have to ask her to dance than Mat does Barliman.  And you, Mat, leave off pestering him or you’ll be tasting my fist.”

“Simmer down, Rowlie.  I was just having a bit o’ fun.  I don’t mean nothing by it, Owen, you know that.”

(See... I *am* working on that third Rushlight story!)