Oriah paused for a moment, then laughed freely at Marrick's wager against snow. Her basic grasp of Common, coupled with his lilting accent, made some jokes harder to understand, but it was not for lack of trying. And eventually the Benshira did manage to figure out what he meant.
"A poor wager," she joked back, grinning. "because I have never liked the snow."
And it was true. Truer than true. Oriah remembered the first time she saw snow in Syliras, she was mesmerized for all of two ticks by the pale white flakes before another gust of frigid, biting wind sent her huddling back into her furs.
With Pie in good care and Yves more or less properly greeted, it was finally time to head to the kitchens. Marrick's hand found Oriah's as they walked down to the mess halls, and though the Benshira found that this simple gesture warmed her more than ten mugs of spiced mead could in one sitting, she was also no longer bewildered by it. Rather, she had come to almost expect his touch. She relished the rare sense of comfort, safety, and belonging that it offered, welcomed the feelings with a contented sight not unlike her companion's, though hers was more silent, as if it were some kind of prayer whispered in gratitude.
What did surprise her, however, were the words that came with the gesture. Oriah looked up at Marrick, breath caught in her throat. Did he really mean that? Had he truly been looking forward to something as simple yet touching as holding her hand for all of this season?
There was no time to ask. He'd opened the door and was waiting for her to enter first. Smiling and hoping he wouldn't notice the pink in her cheeks, Oriah nodded in thanks and stepped into the warmth and din of the mess hall. Both squires shook off the cold from their clothes and boots before shedding their outerwear in relief. The Benshira had always and would forever be a child of Syna; the cold suited her about as well as feathers suited pigs.
Being an infrequent visitor, Oriah lingered by the door for a few ticks, letting Marrick call for their boisterous cook and friend. She had been a more than social enough creature before taking upon this squireship with Sera Mora, but after so many seasons spent wandering around the Woods...well, it was enough to turn even the most gregarious of folk into partial hermits. At the very least, it made her feel a little disoriented, seeing so many people in one setting. Fortunately for the deprived squire, there wasn't a sour face amongst this lot. Most enthusiastic of all was of course none other than Juniper herself. The lass quickly wiped her hands before embracing Oriah, all smiles and exuberance at seeing this particular, familiar face.
"Is that so?" the Benshira laughed, her mirth winning out against her pity for Marrick's suddenly tomato red complexion.
At the cook's next question, Oriah nodded, still struggling to restrain some of her amusement for her companion's sake. But then Juni made the assumption she would be staying long, and suddenly the squire's good cheer wavered. Even if she hadn't received any direct orders from Sera Mora, Oriah doubted her stays would ever be longer than a day or two at a time. The last thing her patron had told her, other than to be safe, was that they would meet on the morrow.
One night...just one night with the person she had come to adore more than all others. It was almost laughable in its tragic absurdity.
Fortunately, Marrick and Juni were too preoccupied with teasing one another to notice the lapse in their friend's gaiety. Oriah recovered quickly enough to join in on the tail end of their good natured jabs at one another. "Like true brother and sister," she quipped with a gentle shake of her head.
The line behind them had grown, however, and there were other squires impatient to receive their meals. Oriah gave Juni's arm a small squeeze to return the lass's sentiments before moving to follow Marrick to an open spot at the tables. She was as eager as the next ravenous squire to dig into her meal; the smell alone was making her head swim with hunger.
As soon as they sat down, she picked up a spoon and had a heaping pile of hearty halfway to her mouth when Marrick blurted her name.
Oriah froze. Then she slowly lowered the spoon, sensing that whatever her companion wanted to say was something of great import. Her heart thumped just a little faster and her eyes remained glued to his, soup utterly forgotten. What was it that he wanted to tell her?
Something akin to struggle flickered across Marrick's handsome, honest features. He cleared his throat. Oriah waited with bated breath.
A wave of confusion swept over her as Marrick stood and asked if she wanted something hot to drink. The question was as kind and considerate as ever, but it didn't seem to be what the other squire had intended to say. Not knowing how else to react, Oriah replied, "Yes, that would be nice."
And then Marrick was off to fetch them tea, leaving the Benshira to sit for herself for a while, perplexed beyond description. By the time he came back and she had thanked him for the tea, Oriah had done her best to push the matter aside. Only one night, she reminded herself. It would be better not to waste such sparse time together fretting over the unspoken, but somehow this didn't feel so easy to dismiss. She could see it in the way his recent high spirits had dwindled. Whatever it was, it would have to be addressed, Oriah decided. Preferably once they'd both eaten their fill and they could speak somewhere less crowded.
Despite the earlier incident, Marrick seemed no less inclined to be near her, for which the Benshira felt grateful for beyond description. His heat beside her felt twice as good as the hot broth traveling down to her belly. For a good full ten or so chimes, Oriah couldn't imagine feeling any happier or more content.
Once she'd done a good amount of damage to her portrions, the squire found herself opening up with a flood of words. There was no one to talk to in the woods beside her patron, who was about as social as a grandmother tree, and the familiar hustle and bustle of the people around her drew out her much too neglected loquaciousness. She spoke mostly of the harrowing trials of Winter and a little of training, though the Benshira suspected Marrick was no stranger to the cold. He seemed to tolerate it well enough. Oriah, on the other hand, found it completely miserable, and it was one of the few things she could be driven to complain about.
"Once," she divulged, swallowing another mouthful of broth. "I forgot to put a hole in my shelter, and I almost choked myself to death with my own fire."
The squire had meant for it to be an amusing story, but now that she said it out loud it did sound rather morbid. Realizing she'd been talking for the better half of their meal, Oriah felt the heat rise along the back of her neck and ears again and stuck a spoonful of soup into her mouth to cover her embarassment.
"So what are these stories I hear you're telling to the pages?" she asked between mouthfuls of delicious soup, mildly ashamed of her table manners but far too famished to remedy them anytime soon.
Clack, clack. Looking down in surprise, Oriah only just noticed that her bowl was completely empty. She glanced back up at Marrick, chagrined, and added, "But maybe I will have to wait until after my bath to know. I'm afraid if we go back for more soup there will be none left for the others."