“I can give ‘im a note myself,” the mop-top young boy protested with all the indignation of a child not entrusted with an important task. He was not overly well dressed, but his clothes were neat and clean and on him in the proper order. Even without the now outdated emblem designating Inquistory employment, he was recognizable, spry, and presentable; good qualities for a young carrier of missives.
He held the door with his foot. His face changed from stubborn upset, to a pouty acceptance as he looked back to the interior of the Dagger. “But, won’ we be interrupting some supper?” His voice called back.
Twilight approached but the day still burned its last golden minutes, and they were bright. Too bright for eyes that held books in candle light and had become accustom to the filtered sun that barely reached the bottom of the dilapidated library. Stepping out behind young Daryl, she immediately released one side of the black sash she had been clutching tight as a hood, and held up her hand to block the searing sun from her eyes. The gentle breeze of a summer evening caught and played with her now free hair. Not that it mattered what mischief the wind made, the red locks were wild. Tiny curls and frizzy bits glinted in the remaining sun, small braids peeked out from under loose locks; she had the look of someone who had fallen asleep with damp hair without a care to tame it.
“Must be at home!” Daryl chimed with some surprise as he took the young woman’s hand and they took slow, deliberate care to descend the steps. Though she loomed at nearly twice his height, she held his hand, allowing the boy to lead her. At the base of the steps Genny smiled and Daryl’s brown eyes looked up, their exchange half silent to the world. “You think? I suppose the gardens are on the way,” he said skeptically, though he was already leading her to them and hopefully a visit to Catch, long overdue.