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Dear Sens: YOU ARE NOT CASSANDRA CAIN
"You're lucky Greagoir didn't insist on something far more severe," Irving says as he hands Sens a bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush as long as her arm. He says something in the King's Tongue to Jowan when he hands Jowan his supplies.
Jowan whines a question that earns him a sharp response from Irving. The unruly dark hair doesn't hide the eloquent statements of his rolled eyes and theatrical sigh. Irving pats each of them on the head a few times, his eyes twinkling a little and then turns around and leaves them to their task.
Sens looks between the soap bucket that's weighing her arms down and the buckets of water on the ground around them. Then she looks to the end of the hall, where two Templars stand, looking back at her. They've rolled the carpet up and one of the Templars leans against it.
Jowan sighs again, but his eyes are alive with mischief when he turns to her.
Sens swallows. "Jowan, what 'scrub floor?'"
Jowan whines a question that earns him a sharp response from Irving. The unruly dark hair doesn't hide the eloquent statements of his rolled eyes and theatrical sigh. Irving pats each of them on the head a few times, his eyes twinkling a little and then turns around and leaves them to their task.
Sens looks between the soap bucket that's weighing her arms down and the buckets of water on the ground around them. Then she looks to the end of the hall, where two Templars stand, looking back at her. They've rolled the carpet up and one of the Templars leans against it.
Jowan sighs again, but his eyes are alive with mischief when he turns to her.
Sens swallows. "Jowan, what 'scrub floor?'"