MEET WILLIAM OF THE KING'S ARCHERS... MEET WILLIAM OF THE KING'S ARCHERS...
The training grounds of the King's Archers of Forosen:
William and Abigail collect spent arrows in the forest
from "Abigail's Archer," Soulful Sex Volume I
"Lead on, I follow," said William with a smile.
Abigail struggled to find voice as they headed to the next tree. "You make me wish I were more useful," she said.
"Grip and leverage are gifts of gender, mostly. You, on the other hand, learned to cook by dedication."
Abigail found to her relief that the next arrow pulled free easily. She handed it to William and met his gaze. "I hope the food suits you."
He offered her a brilliant smile. "I have never eaten so well, thank you."
She managed a "You're welcome," but barely; the Archer's eyes were so green and their aspect so gentle. Looking into them, she felt the heat of her body was soothed.
He broke the spell by nodding at the tree, and Abigail plucked forth the second arrow, feeling her face flush crimson. She wanted badly to make normal conversation, so she ventured, "Tell me, if it pleases you, William, why did you choose to become an Archer?"
He sheathed the arrow and replied, "I was good with the bow, I suppose."
Abigail laughed. "I suppose!"
William smiled. "But truthfully, it was my father's ambition for me. Me, I didn't mind it . . . as long as I may live in the woods, I am content, and there are not so many careers to be exercised in the woods. Since Fosoren's borders tend to trees, and soldiers tend to borders, the equation works to my pleasure."
"That is well," said Abigail, delighted with the young man's turn of phrase. She strode on to a copse where an arrow had tangled in the growth. "And tell me then the reasons you insist so on living in the woods."
He raised his brows at her. "Clearly you have not known the privilege, or you would not ask, dear Abigail! The forest bears such reasons plainly on its face. Can you not see?" He indicated their surroundings with a sweep of his hand.
"Indeed, I think it very pretty here . . ."
But now William was striding swiftly to the foot of a huge oak, where an expansive patch of emerald green moss spread between two roots. He dropped to one knee and stroked his hand over the moss. "In your town, do you see such fine upholstery? Come, come--feel this."
Abigail knelt too, and put her fingers to the moss. Indeed, it was wonderfully soft. "Your point is well taken," she agreed.
William flopped down on the bed of moss, folding his arms under his head and looking up at the branches above. "In the King's Throne Room there is a fresco painted upon the ceiling that is much favored by all the folk of the Court. But I feel it lacks . . . leaves? Sky? At any rate something is strongly missing."
Abigail laughed aloud at this. "But it never rains on the courtiers when they look up to admire that fresco, now does it?"
The Archer turned to meet her eyes. "No never! Another reason why it fails to please. No soft warm rain, no caressing breeze, no glitter of falling snow. You town folk baffle me in your tastes."
The bubble of amusement in her breast threatened to pop, but Abigail held her laughter and simply smiled at him. Then suddenly, without warning, William jumped to his feet and then gave a leap, extending his arms to barely grasp the lowest branch of the tree.
"Another point of merit comes to mind," he said as he hoisted himself up. Abigail watched in wonder as the Archer, the quiver still slung on his back, ascended the great oak branch to branch as cleverly as a squirrel. When he was some twenty feet above her head he called down, "You have stairs and a tower or two, of which you boast enthusiastically. But in my forest there are more towers than all the world's cities may hold. What say you to that?"
"I would say our stairs are easier to climb, but I see that point would be lost on you." Abigail laughed.
William disappeared a moment behind some foliage. She heard him call, "Abbie, there's one you missed. Look alive now!" He re-emerged and tossed an arrow down which fell nicely at Abigail's feet.
"Thank you," she said. As she watched William descend and gracefully drop to the ground in front of her, she commented, "It's a wonder anything at all can coax you out of the trees, Will."
"Your stews are one thing," he replied. "Say--I do game duty in the morning. Tell me what you like best to cook, I'll bring it down for you."
"Oh, I can cook anything--"
"You speak truly, but I insist. Tell me your favorite."
Abigail rubbed her hands together. "Oh . . . there's nothing like a fine roast pig, even a wild boar makes a feast fit for royalty. But they are so scarce--"
Again William put his fingers to her lips. "Ah! And one scarcer in the morning. We will have roast boar for dinner tomorrow eve--Abigail declares it so."
"William declares it," Abigail corrected.
The Archer gave a low bow, then stood tall and regarded her sternly. "So he does, and we are agreed."