[Arry]

Gil and friends

Along with Tomlin, Gil had come in early to the Inn. His reason being to pick up Woody and Hanson from class; Tomlin’s to flirt a bit with Buttercup. ‘Chat her up some,’ he’d told Gil. ‘Make sure we’re on for the Faire.’ Gil had laughed at his friend, chiding Tomlin for being tied to her apron-strings.

Tomlin grinned and gave Gil a knowing look. ‘Can’t wait til some lass snares you, Master Play-the-field.’ He laughed aloud at Gil’s raised brows and his snort of disbelief. ‘Twil be a quick hard fall for you. And we’ll be there to clap as you hit the ground!’

Fallon and Ferrin had joined them just as Tomlin nodded their way. ‘What are we clapping for?’ Ferrin asked, sliding into his chair. ‘Ah,’ he said as Tomlin explained.

‘We should put a wager on it,’ Fallon interrupted, before his brother could say more. ‘I’ll say a week would do it, once he’s met the right one.’ ‘Oh, a month at least,’ offered Ferrin. ‘Our Gil’s a cool one, he is.’ ‘What do you say, Tomlin?’ Fallon asked. ‘Being the one who brought this all up and such.’

‘Can’t say about the actual time it’ll take. But I know the sort it’ll be. None of the lasses we know . . . they’re too easily taken in by his quick smiles and silvered tongue. She’ll be the sort to ward off his charm. Pierce him with her bright, sharp eyes . . . straight to the heart of him.’

Gil laughed and was about to respond when a server came round with a pitcher of ale to fill up their mugs. ‘From the big fellow, over there,’ the server had said, pointing toward Benat.

Benat’s toast had rung out loud and clear through the Common Room. Gil and his fellows raised their mugs to him. Fallon, a grin on his face for the free drink, shouted back. ‘May the hair on your toes grow long, good Sir!’

They took a long drink and raised their mugs again in acknowledgement. Then Gil turned back to his companions, a twinkle in his eye. ‘And would any of you grand wizards watching over my poor life care to put a few coins in the pot to back up your predictions?’