The open meadow at the base of the hills looked westward as it tumbled downwards toward the towering oaks that formed this distant edge of the mighty forest, Arden. Fading crimsonweed, goldenrod and Queen Anne's Lace lay a fairy blanket across the sward of greenery, pushed down by the trampling boots of busy men and the excited paws of hounds.

The labor of servants had caused dozens of gaily-colored tents to sprout up in the earliest part of the morning, rows of banners flapping in the breeze as they tugged themselves at the supporting poles, each

plunged into the soft grass and earth at their base. Clumps of nobles had gathered together, laughing and jesting about past glories and the new ones to come on such a fine day. Their boots were dew-moistened, their eyes bright, as shining and glorious as the spears and pikes they held or had strapped to the saddles of their destriers.

Servants bustled about, some preparing the great wooden trestle tables that were laid about in anticipation of the day's feast, others struggling with the leashes of a dozen baying hounds, each eager to

catch the scent of the prey.

A semi-circle had formed toward the middle of this conflagration of activity, an epicenter measured by the importance and rank of the nobility surrounding them. Eorl Wassel, gray-bearded and stern-faced, with his black-haired son Galen, each wearing the Fox and Globe crest of their family.

Duke Maecan Rawlings, thin and dour, his beard balancing the baldness of his pate, clutching the fabled sword Glimmering like a talisman. His four sons, each as stony-faced as the father held the tresses of a matched brace of four magnificent white mares. Baron-Commander Uric Tallyrand, husky and battle-scarred, dressed as if for full battle in lovingly restored field plate.

The Baron-Commander talked emphatically with a clever-faced man, his face non-committal, his dark hair long, beard trimmed, in contrast to the white-enameled armor he wore. This was Julian, Protector of Arden forest, and it's unofficial master.

A tall, red-haired man, his moustachios and beard fashionably wax-pointed, stood nearby. The breeze bloused silken finery of orange and red and he laughed with good humor, enjoying the jest of a shorter man saddled upon a brown gelding. This man had straw-brown hair, and sharp features, his doublet of fine brown velvet, studded with gold, a heavy golden chain around his neck, and a great orange and brown cloak billowing behind him. They were Bleys, and Random, the King of Amber.

Squatted down on the ground, feeding a large gray wolfhound was another man, much like the King in appearance, though taller, and a bit less wiry, his hair a shade darker. Martin. He was dressed simply in green and gray, eschewing armor in the same manner as his father.

Another man in emerald and black garb made his way toward where Julian and Tallyrand spoke, his dark curls blowing in the wind, his features dark and saturnine focused into a bored sneer. Caine.

A tall giant of a man, burly and square-jawed stood like a titan, his jawbone framed by a trim black beard. In gray and blue he was attired, a great hunting horn around his neck, a great fur cloak wrapped and furled around powerful shoulders. This was Gerard, master of the ships.

Near him, as if taking comfort from his presence, a woman with blonde hair in a French braid sat on a portable stool, her dress a tasteful brocade of greens and tan. Her name was Florimel.

These were called out this day for a great hunt, a day of celebration commanded by the King. Such a thing had not happened for many years, and the nobles and commons alike rejoiced for the time to lay down tool and sword and raise stein and trencher.

The focus of the great hunt was a white stag, or hart, spotted a month ago by Prince Julian, but not captured. So elusive and clever was this beast that it managed to evade even this master hunter, who in cool humor, suggested that the beast would only stop if given royal orders. Upon hearing the tale, Random stopped his current festivities to declare a hunt for the beast, and to this extent, he had even had a

royal Warrant drawn up to give the beast pause.

The excitement lay not only in the days hunt, but also in the later falconry contests, and the inevitable feast, as the quail, boar, deer, rabbit and other game taken by the hunters found it's way to spit and table.

*****

The man looked to Gerard and gave a slight nod. Their resemblance was striking. The same powerful build and dark hair even down to the slight beard. This was Gerard's illegitimate son, Rowan. He turned and watched as the others arrived. One could see his obvious contempt for the outing.

Speaking with Eorl Wassel and his son was an intense, dark-eyed soldier. Bold and audacious in manner, with a dark blonde cap of seal-thick, cropped hair over a wide brow. All knew him as Random's first legitimate offspring, Martel, the only product of his marriage with Queen Vialle. He resembled both, being fairer than his mother, but more robust and stable than his father. He had a reputation of working everyone like a mule and himself twice as hard, and his presence at the hunt was one of the few activities he allowed himself. He was widely admired by the people of Amber for his dedication to public works and reform, and among the nobles for his prowess and character.

From behind one of the nearby tents, a beautiful grey mare emerged, being led by Joshua. His spiky, auburn hair, becoming almost ginger in the morning light, clashed wildly with his close-cut pale green shirt and darker green trousers. Green, attentive eyes surveyed the scene in front of him, before a smile played itself lightly across his lips, and he tugged at his horse’s bridle and moved to stand beside Florimel.

At his belt hung a broadsword of simple design, and on the side of his saddle a quiver and short-bow swung back and forth with the horse’s gait. Joshua slipped a sleeveless tunic over his head as he approached, and the color of this garment added yet another shade of green to his attire. He stopped to stand slightly to the side of Florimel, keeping the grey mare well back.

A pair of horses appeared near the edge of the gathering, winding their way through the crowds at a leisurely pace. The riders were men... the leader upright and alert in the saddle, his smoldering green eyes burned beneath a heavy brow, taking in every detail before him. His wavy black hair flowed down to his shoulder blades, and swayed with the breeze in unison with his black half cloak. Black and turquoise dominated the colors of his clothing, among which were high black boots, a loose long-sleeved shirt, and heavy vest. At his sides hung a matching set of blades, dagger and swept-hilt rapier. He rode a young grey stallion, and among the saddlebags was secured a longbow and full quiver. This was Prince Vincent, son of the late Eric.

Behind him rode another man, a bit taller, with short-cropped brown hair. His clothing was heavier, as if he was used to a warmer clime, and he kept his long cape securely fastened. He rode a piebald gelding and also carried sword and bow. His eyes darted more openly, and his expression was one of wonder. This was Marcus, close friend of Vincent's and frequent visitor to Amber.

Vincent and Marcus rode to the inner semicircle, pulling reign near Gerard and Florimel. Martel, noticing their arrival, spoke a few more words with the Wassel and disengaged himself, walking through the grounds towards Vincent and Flora.

After dismounting, Vincent strode to where his Aunt sat daintily upon her stool, and bowed deeply before her. He looked into her eyes as he spoke, "Aunt Flora, Arden's green is one of envy, when you sit so near."

A smile crinkled the corners of her mouth. "It is good to see such manners in the young. Breeding is the measure of a man. Will you win us a fine catch today, Vincent?"

His smile widened, poised as it was to reassure, "If that is the greatest honor I may secure on your behalf this day, then it shall be done."

"You remember Marcus..." he swept his hand back, indicating his friend.

Florimel allowed Marcus to take her hand, noting the bow and gesticulation. "Welcome again to Amber, Marcus son of Linus. Amber has good fortune in having your family as our ally - you do a justice

to Eric's blood, and that is no small thing."

Marcus' face flushed, and he seemed hesitant to reply, "Your words are too kind. I am honored to be welcome in Amber, and I hope that our lands shall be forever allied." His 'aw-shucks' demeanor continued as he glanced at the ground with a grin and tapped a rock with his boot.

Joshua nodded briefly to Vincent and Marcus, gave a low bow to his mother as he said "Good Morning."

Rising from his bow he looked at Vincent and Marcus, and said "Good Morning." while a bemused and somewhat quizzical look settled upon his features.

Vincent returned the greeting with a nod, "Joshua." He noted his cousin's expression, and glanced at his own fly. Finding it closed, he guessed that Marcus' presence was the cause. "Have you met Marcus? He's an old friend from my homeland, Vesuvia."

Marcus nodded with a grin, "Joshua, nice to meet you."

Vincent grinned as he took her hand. "I notice Aunt Fiona has not arrived. Was she planning on attending?"

Flora put a hand to her braided head, holding an errant strand of pale blonde hair to her head as the breeze perked up. She gave a small shake of her delicate chin. "My sister has much to do as Minister...I suspect she is soothing the feelings of the latest diplomats our Liege has...or rather, gave him cause for offense..."

Vincent nodded grimly.

She shoots a look toward where Random is mounted. "Mind you...no one will gainsay the Unicorn, but there are times, Vincent, I wish it were your father's forehead that the crown still lay."

Martel, approaching from the direction of the king, stopped several paces off. His face drained into a peculiar pale color, and the gloved little finger of his left hand twitched slightly. He waited at a polite distance for several moments before speaking.

Vincent suppressed a wince as Flora spoke, for he had noticed Martel's approach. His smile softened, "You do me honor, dear Aunt. I wish I had known my father more than I had... " He cleared his throat, "but, as you say, the Unicorn knows what is best for Amber."

"One never argues with a Unicorn," she admonishes, her mouth a line of firm thought. But her eyes...they are restless.

"My apologies dear Flora", Martel addressed his aunt "but I have not confronted this scurrilous fellow in far to long!"

Florimel raises a hand from her seat in order to allow Martel to kiss it. "I hope this morning finds you well...it shall certainly be a poor day for the hart."

Gracing her out stretched hand with a kiss, Martel replies "Always thinking of others, a goodly quality, and much admired by your nephew. Should I be so lucky as to slay our prey, I will be as merciful as my bow allows."

"Mercy?" Florimel laughs. "It was merely an expression. Find the thing and slay it...I would very much enjoy a new mounting in my study."

"The Unicorn's grace to you, this morn, Joshua", Martel said noticing Flora's companion.

Joshua returned the nod from Vincent and Marcus, smiled at Martel, and adjusted the top of his boots, before striding over to stand near Rowan.

Martel clasped Vincent's arm with his right hand, and Vincent's left shoulder with his left, then steps back to observe him with a critical eye. "You've kept yourself away for too long, cousin. Good to see you return!"

Vincent returns the grasp, his expression warm, "Thanks, Martel. It's good to see you."

Martel turns to Marcus "And you I've met as well, several seasons back during the heavy rains in Garnath. Marcus, welcome to our fair Arden."

"Aye, it's a pleasure! When Vincent told me of the hunt, I knew he would need my help." Marcus glanced at Vincent, grinning at his joke. "But I always enjoy visiting Amber. There's just something about it..."

Vincent spoke up, hooking his thumbs in his belt and thrusting his chest out for effect, "So Martel, how long do you think it will take me to bag this beast? I should say Random will be slicing the first piece by noon!" Even as he jested with his cousin, Vincent noted the arrival of several others.

Turning to match Vincent's glance, Martel replied, "If you can wrest the royal warrant for yourself, I give you the kill within the hour, provided the beast can read and is a loyal subject of the crown!"

Vincent laughed. "Perhaps that's the problem. The thing doesn't speak Thari!"

Martel continued, "I see the girls have begun to arrive, and Rowan and Arathorn are about as well".

Martel waved a servant, tabarded in the royal greens and golds, over and took several bottles of stout and passed them around. Vincent took one and opened it immediately, pocketing the cap.

"The road leaves dust on the palate". Martel took a draw from the dark bottle. "Shall we attend to the ladies, our cousins? We can surely catch up on things after the hunt during the festivities to follow."

After a deep drink, Vincent replies, "I'll catch up. I want to say hello to Gerard and Rowan."

Martel nods and smiles a bit. "Very well then, I know that Gerard has missed you in his way. Later, then".

Vincent turned, and strode to Gerard. Martel looked at Rowan and Gerard as Vincent approached, following the Vincent's path with his eyes for a moment, before he turned toward the direction of the royal party.

*****

It seems that between my trips into shadow and your tours at sea, we hardly meet. After I bag this beast, we will have to raise a mug together!"

Gerard's smile, genuine among much of the false niceties of the surrounding royalty and nobility, warms the instant he notices Vincent make his way across the dewy grass.

"That we shall, lad, that we shall. I've found a good brew out of Seville that I've been saving. Gift from your cousin Rowan these years back..."

Vincent’s eyes turn a bit, regarding the hulking man beside him, turning towards him. He made his way to where the huge man stood, and grasped his arm.

"Hello, cousin. I'm glad you came, it has been a while since I've seen you." He lowered his voice, and his countenance became serious. "But it seems that this hunt may be putting a crimp in your style. Don't tell me you and Arathorn have opened a veterinarian clinic!" A small grin danced slightly with the jest, but his eyes remained serious and fixed on his cousin, as if seeking the most serious of replies.

Rowan looks to Vincent and responds. His tone is most serious and without any emotions.

" It is nice to see you again cousin, but I find this outing to be a waste of time. All of us chasing one buck. There is no challenge, for the animal can not fight back. It has not the training or the instinct to outmaneuver us. The beast can not call for reinforcements, can not use an unknown weapon to cause us worry. All it can do is piss and run away."

Rowan stops talking for a moment and takes on a more serious look. "Now if you say you can slay it within the hour do so, for I do not think our King will last that long

Rowan then looks to King Random and laughs a little. Rowan still smiles and begins to pour some ale. The bottle has the emblem of a bull charging. The ale is a dark color.

"I drink to you Vincent and shall wager a barrel of my finest ale, if you slay the beast within the hour."

Vincent holds aloft his bottle of stout. "I promise to find you a comparable barrel in the farthest shadow, should I fail." He drinks.

With that Rowan sips from his mug and offers any that want some. Joshua watched as Rowan took a sip from his mug, and as he offered it round said,

"Rowan. If you are willing to wager, then I'll bet 2 barrels that none here today bags the beast!"

Vincent raised a brow, and glanced at Rowan to see his reaction.

Rowan smiles a bit as he pours Joshua a full cup.

"Do you know something that the others do not? Is the beast more than just

fair game. But yes I see in your eyes that you do know something Joshua, but I am a wagering sort so be it. If the beast is not caught by the end of the day, then yes two of my finest barrels of ale will go to you. But what have you to trade? I was not aware that you had your own distilleries? This ale of Seville has my personal sigil. It is my own private stock even though my father would drink it all." with that Rowan smiles a bit, hoping that Gerard did not hear his ribbing, but not caring if it was heard.

" So Joshua if you have no brewery then perhaps you have another item to wager? Let it be something you treasure, but not too much, for I despise you being upset with it's parting." Rowan chuckles.

Joshua smiles a broad smile, at Rowan, then licks his lips as if in anticipation of the ale he assumes he will win. He puts his hand on Rowans shoulder, and says

"I will wager my favorite saddle and bridle, which my horse sports just now, should the hart be brought down this day."

Joshua then turns to Vincent.

"Are you willing to wager something Vincent? I think that perhaps this will spice up the hunt a little. Yes?"

"Oh, yes." Vincent's grin turned a shade of devilish,

"That the beast will be found I have no doubt. I promised a fine barrel of ale to Rowan, I can provide the same to you, if that's what you desire. But if you lose, Rowan gets a fine saddle, and what do I get?"

"I am already looking forward to the ale you will need to provide for me Vincent, maybe I'll throw a party, perhaps one to rival Random’s!"

Joshua glanced to see whether or not Random heard the last remark.

"How about my horse. Will that satisfy?"

Before Vincent can respond, Rowan laughs and interjects.

"So, Joshua, when you lose, I shall have the bridle and saddle, but Vincent shall have the steed?

A frown crossed Vincent's face as he held an elbow and stroked his chin. He looked the beast over a moment, before asking,

"Not sure. Anything special about it? No offense, cousin, but I can find a fine mount with little effort in shadow. Morgenstern would be another matter. You'll have to sell me on it."

"If I were you Vincent, the thought of watching me walk back to the castle horse- less would be enough. Sure you can find any mount you wish, but the embarrassment of a fellow family member must be worth a couple of barrels of that fine ale?"

"What do you say Rowan?"

Rowan looks at Joshua's horse.

"‘Tis a fine beast you have there, but I do agree with Vincent. We can search for any steed we wish. I will tell you this. If Vincent bags the beast within the day, Two barrels shall go to him. If someone else does the deed the ale stays with me. If the beast goes without being caught for the entire day, the two barrels shall go to you Joshua, and to makes matters more interesting, let us say that If Vincent wins, then Joshua must throw a party in his honor, if Joshua wins then Vincent must throw the party. If someone else bags the best then the ale shall stay with me.. and both of you through me a party, what say you Joshua, Vincent?"

With that Rowan smiles and awaits a response.

Vincent looked at Joshua, then back to Rowan. His smile widened. Clapping a hand on Rowan's shoulder, he said,

"Wonderful. Whatever happens shall be celebrated. This is as it should be. I agree. Joshua?"

"That sounds like a marvelous idea. I like it. Whatever happens we get a party; we get to celebrate."

Joshua turned slightly to regard the rest of the groups of people dotted around.

"I think I would like to get things moving. I have barrels of ale to win. Let’s be about this as soon as possible. That way we get plenty of time to celebrate the hart’s escape."

Vincent snorted.

"We'll see about that, cousin."

He handed his bottle to a passing attendant, and began looking for his friend, Marcus.

Joshua, concluding his conversation with Rowan and Vincent, moved towards Gerard.

"Uncle Gerard!" exclaimed Joshua, "It does my heart good to see you again. If the hunt goes my way today, we could be drinking the finest ale before the night is over. How do you judge the hart’s chances?"

"Good to see you, lad!" Gerard bellowed, his deep bass, alerting the nearby Florimel, who looked up momentarily.

"The Hart? He's as good as hung up on my wall...ha! Have you company to ride with this day?" the giant asks.

*****

Stopping not far from Martin, he watched as his cousin fed the large wolfhound… but his gaze shifted and his placid countenance changed. A hint of a scowl grew upon Arathorn’s face as he slipped his watch back into his coat and stood watching his uncle, Prince Julian.

Julian's countenance changes as he looked over Tallyrand's shoulder, noticing Arathorn.

He brushes back his long, dark locks, and raises a gauntleted hand as if in fellowship, calling across the distance between them.

"Hail thee young Arathorn! Why so distance yourself from the hunting men? Will you not sport with us this fine day?"

A number of heads turn to watch the exchange.

"Oh! Sport? Is that what it’s called?" replied Arathorn, as he raised his voice and his face brightened.

"Nothing like the thrill of chasing a dumb and defenseless beast through woods, eh?" A flush came upon the young prince’s face as he warmed to the topic. He raised both hands, about chest level, and gestured emphatically as he continued.

"Yeah, I tell you… nothing gets MY heart pumping like chasing a terrified animal as it runs for its life." His lips curled back from his teeth and his eyes opened wide as he continued. "… And then BAM!" he almost shouted, as he smashed his fist into his open hand, "you kill it! Oh, the pure pleasure you feel as the dumb thing lies there and twitches, bright blood bubbling up through its nostrils and mouth." He took a deep breath and exhaled, "Could anything make you feel more like a man?"

His eyes locked with Julian’s,

"I even bet some people like it better than sex."

Arathorn turned, not waiting for a response, and started toward a servant carrying tankards of ale.

Vincent chuckled to himself. 'What a day, and it has only just begun,' he thought. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the familial drama that was presenting itself.

Rich, cold laughter struck Arathorn's back. It was Julian's, and dripped with mockery.

"That's the spirit boy! I knew you had it in you!"

Then in a loud, but more conversational tone, Julian announced to those nearest him, "Given a chance, he may very well prove he's got some manhood!"

Few laughed loud, neither wishing to displease the elder Prince, nor offend the younger...a tension hung in the air. Without giving a backward glance, Arathorn raised his right hand and gave a dismissive wave as he walked on. His expression had quickly relaxed and no longer hinted at his flash of temper.

*****

"Excuse us, we have a beast to catch..."

"Vincent! What's the hurry?" Marcus muttered to the Prince, but he only received a grin in response. When they reached their horses, Vincent slid forth a rolled up map, freshly made, from one of his saddle bags, and glanced about suspiciously before opening it for Marcus.

"Here now... Marcus, pay attention! This is a map of Arden, and I've marked out areas that I feel deserve our attention, based on the reports I've managed to secure from one of Julian's drunken Rangers." He grinned briefly, and looked at Marcus to see if he appreciated the work. It appeared that he did. They began going over the map in detail, watching over their shoulders as suspiciously as a pair of schoolboys planning an assault on their professor.

*****

Isadora was her name.

She smiled pleasantly at all as she walked forward sparing a glance towards where her father, Caine, and Julian had gone. A warmer smile showed on her features as she watched her cousins greet reach other: she did not join the group around Flora and Gerard, instead she headed towards where the King and Bleys stood.

Smiling at them she said, "Fine day for an outing, Sire" towards Random.

Before the mounted king can reply, a finely manicured hand, long-fingered and wreathed in finery takes the girl's own, and a kiss is planted on it by the fiery-haired Bleys.

"First the sun, now you...I fear two such marvels gathered upon the same field shall rob even the True City of it's glory..."

Isadora allowed her hand to be kissed by Bleys, but she didn't respond tohim.

A snort of derision, followed by a laugh of irritation wafts down from above. Random turns a bit in his saddle, and looks downward.

"Bleys, you ass, I’m the king...don't do that again. Ahem, Princess Isadora...daughter of my faithful Admiral...how are we this morning? I see you are outfitted for the hunt?"

The smell of wine is strong on his breath. And his eyes seem a bit glassy.

Isadora gracefully disengages her hand from Bleys and smiles up at Random.

"Yes, Sire, I hope to help at the hunt, but I fear the honor will go to you in the end. I can't hope to compete, but at least I can learn by watching those more skillful than myself."

"Nonsense," he reels, "you are a daughter of Amber. I bet you could make a fool of that pompous windbag, Tallyrand, couldn't you

He laughs, and near him, Bleys joins in.

Isadora laughs as well, "I'm sure I could, Sire. Shall we make bet then? "

Random nods, "Yes...that would be interesting..."

She looks around at the gathering, "What shall be the prize if I gain more

game then Tallyrand?"

Brows furrowed, Random pursed his lips and paused a moment, his horse side-stepping briefly for a moment. It must have been a green horse, to move without its master's command...

"Tallyrand as our benchmark, eh? Well, royal lady, if you do, I'll grant you a private estate of mine...and if he bests you...?"

His eyes clear for a moment as he regards the young Amberite from above. Nearby, Bleys looks amused, smoothing the ends of his waxed moustachio.

"If he bests me?" Isadora pauses thinking for a moment. "I've no estates of any value and it must be a prize worthy of a King of Amber."

She looks around at the gathering. The men gathered together and others of Random's hanger on crowd dressed in fine cloths and drinking and laughing and seemingly waiting for the hunt to end and the serious party to begin. And ideal struck Isadora as she turned to look back up to Random.

"Estates I don't have, but there are some things that are beyond value. If Tallyrand wins, I shall leave this place and search through the golden circle for the best entertainment troop that money can buy. I will bring them to Amber straight away for the pleasure of the King and his court and I shall pay for all of their expenses for as long as the King finds them pleasing. Will you accept the bet, Sire? Surely there can be nothing of more value then the pleasure of the King and nothing that could bring more pleasure then the finest songs and entertainers of the Kingdom."

Isadora smiles and looks to Bleys as though hoping for support from him before looking back to Random and waiting for his answer.

Random smiles warmly. "A stout suggestion, girl. Good hunting...I almost with I could lose this wager."

Isadora bows to him with a smile on her face to match his,

"One never can be certain of the outcome of a hunt. That is half the pleasure of it, Sire

Then Isadora turned her attention to Martin, kneeling down next to him and watching him feed the hound. "He's a fine hound, Martin. What do you call him?"

Martin looks up, troubled storms vanishing behind a mask of cultivated civility.

"Good day, cousin. Thank you..." He ruffles the hound's fur. "His name is Faustus."

"Faustus.... It’s a good name." Isadora replied.

The Prince stands up, taller than his father, and takes Isadora's hand.

"My poor manners...it is the day at hand that colors them - take no offense."

Isadora takes his hand and stand up as well. She gives him a reassuring look.

"No need to apologize, Cousin." she says to Martin. Then she looks around at the gathering, still standing next to Martin.

"It is the tension before the hunt. It brings both the worst and best in us all." Her eyes go towards where Julian has called to Arathorn. "Like an archers bow string pulled back, it stays tense and builds until it can not be held anymore and must be released."

Isadora noticed Martel heading towards them as well.

"Look, I see your brother has come to join the hunt as well."

"Yes..." Martin, says, his voice filled with strained heartiness. "He has."

Martel approached his father.

"Dad, the host is assembled, the prey is afoot, and the dogs whine with anticipation. We should begin before long. Right Martin?"

Looking upward from his hound, the older Prince stands upward. "Brother, a glad heart and an easy laugh...if such a thing this Hunt could produce it will be indeed by the finest of days."

He looks over Martel's shoulder for a moment. "Which steed do you take today, I don't see your usual mare..."

"Glendora is stabled. The dapple from Searlaon, the gelded brute that crushed the stableman's arm last season. I've broken him, if it can be called that, and plan to give him a run. Cinnoch is his name."

Martel leaned over to tuck his hose into his sturdy riding boots.

"Care to team up this hunt and see how he rides? I was going to hunt with the twins" Martel gestures to Baron Scarsleigh's lanky lads, "but I've nary seen much of you lately, I’ve been so busy. T'would be good to cast care to the wind and Arden's green. Be brothers, that sort of thing, eh?"

Martin shrugs non-comittedly. "Yes, why not." He attempts a smile, and nods again. "That's the thing..."

*****

'And, he believes me to be the disgrace,' she thought, allowing herself to smile at it.

Cat moved from her position next to her steed. Smoothing her breeches, Cat approached Martin, Isadora and Martel.

"Hello, Cousins," she said, letting out a small smile. "I am pleased to see you both looking so well. I assume that you will both be engaging in the hunt as well?"

Martel looks genuinely delighted to see Cat, and a warm smile graces his face. He takes Cat's hand and brushes a kiss across her the backs of her knuckles.

"My fair Cat, we are indeed and by your attire this morn I can see what of your intentions, as well."

Martel straightened up to his usual soldierly stance,

"We were discussing horses and companionship. If you have no plans, Martin and I would be most flattered by your company on the hunt."

Isadora who has been standing next to Martin the whole time has a slightly miffed look on her face as she looks to Martel as he kisses Cat hand, but who has ignored her presence when he greeted his brother. She does however, smile at Cat.

Cat returned a wide smile to Martel. Her cheeks reddened slightly as Martel took her hand and kissed it.

"To accompany my cousins would be my delight. I have been too long without the company of my kinsmen. This creature should prove a most intense challenge, from what I've heard in rumor," her soft melodic voice sang in reply. Cat's violet eyes sparkled with excitement as she regarded her companions.

"I do forget my manners completely. How fare my cousins? I pray the day finds you well."

Martel responds,

"I have sorely missed your company, and am filled with levity at your return. I was hale of body and mind, and now of spirit, too. Shall both of us catch up of familiar times later during the feast?"

"You are still as smooth as ever, Cousin, and I admit that I have missed your company as well. I shall hold you to your word that we will catch up at the feast this evening. Though I warn you now, should you get the hart this day, I will not allow you to get puffed full of yourself. I still know how to take the air out of that chest," Cat answered, wagging a thin playful finger his way.

Isadora then replies to Cat and offers to take her hands, "This day finds me also well, dear cousin. For a moment, I thought young Martel had forgotten that the fairer sex could hunt."

She glances briefly at Martel.

"I didn't know if brothers would accept outside company on the hunt. You look well though...and willing to hunt. Might I join with you?"

Martin speaks up, brushing hair back from his head, one hand resting on the great wolfhound's head. "You'd be more than welcome."

Cat joined hands with Isadora smiled warmly. "I could think of nothing else that would make the day grander than to have you join us, dear Isadora. I daresay with a party such as this, we shall have at least one of every type of game in the forest," Cat answered.

"Well, we can try anyway, though I'm not sure what some would think of it." Isadora replies warmly.

"Bother with what anyone else should think of it," Cat whispered in a playfully conspiratorial tone. "Why should we let the men have all of the thrill and excitement of the hunt?"

"Never," Isadora whispered back to Cat.

Cat, having noticed Isadora's earlier slight, squeezed her hands warmly within Cat's own, then mischievously reached to give Martel's ear a playful tug.

"Pray you forgive Martel, Cousin. Let this be a day of pleasantness only. I am certain he did not intend to slight you in the least and will make up for it, and if he will not, I will give you the finest pelt I gain this day as it is surely my poor influence that caused his breech in manners. After this day, there will be no forgetting the hunting ability of the females in this family."

"Oh, men...you know how they can be at times." Isadora says back.

"Provided" replied Martel rubbing his ear a bit, "that pelt is not my own, I will gladly aid our ladies in proving their mettle".

Martel's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks briefly disconcerted.

"Isadora, I had no intention of being rude, yet I must admit, I have acted the part of the oaf this morning! Permit me to reinvent myself instead as the fair lad of our tale." he says, bowing to her with his hand across his midriff.

"Come, we have four players in our theatre, with the fifth missing and waiting to be invited. Let us all be gladful under Arden's green boughs!"

Martel kneels before Isadora, knee bent, grinning ear to ear with his arms stretched wide, inviting Isadora to laugh as well.

Isadora laughs at the display. "You are forgiven already! Though I was beginning to think I should hunt with Arathorn." As that prince approaches Random, Isadora looks to him briefly but then back to Martel and Cat.

"However, I'm much happier to be hunting with both of you instead."

"Poor Arathorn," Cat mused. "There is little to stop Julian when he decides to be cruel. My father is rather single minded in that task when he chooses it."

Martel's famous grin, then "Where are your mounts, and weapons of choice?"

"Have you beaters, or hounds?" adds Martin.

"No, I didn't bring any with. I had hoped to use some of my father's men." Isadora glances to where Caine is standing near Julian and Tallyrand.

"However, if we are to hunt together perhaps we could share men and dogs? I expect that Julian and Caine will hunt together on this day, though I hope they won't give unfair advantage to Tallyrand. I have a bet to win after all."

"I should think we will all pull together to help you win that bet, though I'm sure you likely shall not need it. I doubt our respective fathers should help old Tallyrand out much at all, " Cat interjected, pleasantly. "I know my own father is rather protective of his own kills."

"I have my own dogs, trained them myself, and several men as well", Martel told Isadora. "They are yours to do with as you wish."

Turning her attention to Martin, Cat said, "It is pleasing to hear your voice, Martin." Her voice sang out in sincere desire of his company when she asked, "Will you join in with us for the afternoon's festivities following the hunt?"

"Possibly not," he replied, looking evenly at the Princess with a smile. "too many of my father's hangers-on will be there turning the thing into a drunken orgy...I expect I shall stay only a short time to placate my obligations. Escape could not come quick enough, I'm afraid."

Changing the subject, Cat added, "Shall we see to what our other kinsmen are about? Thinking of whom, I should at least address before the hunt begins. "

Martel gestured about the bustling encampment, almost a temporary city of tents and pavilions, great pits dug the day earlier for roasting, and the clusters of nobles, hurried servants, and liveried men.

"Over there is Vincent, newly arrived with his friend Marcus; a decent fellow. He wagers with Rowan and Joshua". Perhaps there is a hint of disapproval about the lines of Martel's mouth?

"Fiona is still at the Castle, but Flora is over there past Gerard and the twins. And there is poor Arathorn"

"Well, Arathorn did rather start it first, but I'm sure he is able to deal with it. He seems to be doing well enough with Random and Bleys. And yes, you are of course, excused, but you we'll be waiting for you before the hunt begins." Isadora says to Cat.

"Begging your pardon, Cousins." Cat excuses herself.

"I must go myself, if we are to start this thing." Martel starts in the direction of his father. "I will return shortly"

*****

"Good morning, Gentlemen. Father, I beg you pardon your ungracious daughter for not speaking with you sooner. I hope this morning finds you in good health and humor. Surely you must be anxious for the hunt. I hope to do you proud in my own efforts, though, they shall surely pale next to you gentlemen."

Julian's pale features catch his daughter's and his makes a small bow of recognition. Tallyrand bows deeper, removing his helmet.

"Good day to you, Princess," the old wardog exclaims.

Julian steps forward. "Daughter, I am well enough...hunting excites the blood. There can be no appreciation of life without death, eh?"

"Precisely, Father," Cat replied, her eyes alight with excitement. "I have met up with several fine hunting companions this day and I will endeavor to make a fine showing. I shall count myself extraordinarily lucky if I should catch a glimpse of the hart and more so should I chance to aim an arrow at it, though undoubtedly, it will be you that gains the kill, Father."

You've got the true spirit of things, girl." Julian's face is as passive as ever, but his ice-blue eyes are steady upon his daughter's face. "Take this," and he hands her from his belt a pearl-handled knife. "You can make your final kills with this. No need to return it."

Taking the blade into her thin hands, Cat's eyes withdrew from her fathers to look upon the knife. "Th...Thank you, Father. I shall use it well and treasure it always," she stammered, nearly unable to hold her emotions inside. With a hard swallow, she squashed the silly notion of becoming weepy at the gift.

Clearing her throat, she finally said, "Excuse me, Gentlemen, but I must rejoin my hunting companions. I shall see you all at the feast. Father, Uncle, Lord Tallyrand."

Tallyrand bows, and Julian gives a slight nod of his chin.

With a curtsey, she disengaged herself from the trio of men and made her way back to where Martel, Martin and Isadora stood.

Cat returned to Martin and Isadora.

*****

"M'lord. I hope this day finds you well."

The bemused clever-featured King greeted the approaching Prince with a smile and eyes that were bright with liquor.

"Damn well! Ignore that jackanapes...he's just disappointed there won't be any two-legged game.

Isn't that right Bleys?"

Julian turns off in the distance, his face a mask, then he stalks away from Tallyrand, calling to some servants.

His face expressionless, Arathorn watched his uncle go.

At hand, the red-haired dandy pulled out a box of snuff, the wind ruffling his silks as he delicately inhaled a pinch up one nostril.

Arathorn accepted the proffered snuff with a smile.

"Julian always was full of himself, your Highness." Bleys extended the box of snuff toward Arathorn.

"Do best to steer clear of him...no use baiting the bull if you are to step into the forest. Or will you stay here, with the ladies and servants?" Bleys' eyes seem to be pure concern, his voice sincere

.

"Your warning is well taken, uncle" Arathorn replied seriously, as he fixed his attention on Bleys. "Though... the thought of staying with the ladies does have its merit... but, would the ladies then be safe?" he asked, his voice sincere.

Bleys smiles, replacing the snuff box under he red lined hunting cloak.

"With you? If the rumors of your manners are correct, I would say so."

A very wide grin split across young Arathorn's face. With a mocking bow, he deferred to Bleys' opinion in the matter.

"Not," he says devilishly, twirling one waxed end of his moustachio, "with this Prince, however. Not in my nature."

Martel comes to stand next to his father's horse.

"Dad, can I have your attention for just a bit"

He turns his head to Arathorn "Pardon, cousin"

Arathorn simply nods to Martel.

Martel looks his dad in the eyes "We really should start, the morning sun has burned away the due, and the day ages toward noontime."

"Bah!" The wiry king scoffs. "The morning is new yet..."

He trails off, then throws the goblet to the ground, wine splashing Bleys' boots and trousers. A look of ferocity creases Random's features, distorting them.

"What business of yours is it to tell ME when to begin my hunt!? Are you so eager to take my place?!" The crowd has gone quiet as this exchange takes place, though Bleys remains appears slightly annoyed at his soiled silks.

Vincent stopped talking in mid-sentence, and both he and Marcus looked up from their map and watched. Vincent's eyes danced with a strange light...

Pushing his unkempt hair from his eyes yet again, Arathorn shot a side-glance to Vincent. He paused, hoping to catch his cousin's attention.

Vincent noticed the movement, and locked eyes with Arathorn. A memory bubbled forth, and he aknowledged his cousin with a slight nod.

As the exchange between Random and Martel, Cat looked back to Martin. "Perhaps I may beg of you your company away from such a gross engagement, for I should not like to stay beyond what is obligatory myself," Cat requested, quietly. "It has been too long since I have had the pleasure of friendly familial company, and I fear being around to engage the wrath of any of our elders, as it seems your dear brother has already managed."

Isadora stood quietly not far away next to Martin as this happened. She waved a hand to a servant and whispered to them as they scurried away for another glass of wine.

Martel's face becomes marble, and a very quiet moment issues throughout the glade.

"Father, none would so dare presume" Martel begins hoarsely, "I became overeager for the hunt, and overstepped myself. I beg your grace for having misspoke." Martel bows to the king on one knee, waiting for Random's reply or release, his head turned down to the sward.

From his perch atop his horse, Random merely extends his ring to be kissed, then waves a hand, dismissing Martel without further word.

From the back, Rowan, who has been speaking alone to his father and Joshua, replies in a soft voice.

"It seems Martin is not the only one with a dog to order around. Bad, Martel, bad!" and Rowan chuckles some.

Isadora turns her attention in that direction too with an almost curious look. As she gets the wine from the servant, she steps in place to give the new goblet to Random at about the same time as Martel steps up and heads to confront Rowan over the comment. Like everyone else her attention is directed at them, though she does take a small glance up to see Random's expression as this is going on.

Isadora can overhear Random mutter under his breath. "This new breed is as bad as the old..."

Hearing Rowan’s comment, Joshua laughs, chokes and splutters at the same time. It is loud enough for everyone to hear, almost loud enough for everyone back in Amber to hear as well. Joshua immediately begins slapping his chest, as if trying to clear something that has become stuck. Quickly before anyone has a chance to speak, he says loudly...

"God Rowan, what do they put in that ale, I think I nearly died!" Joshua bends over with his face pointing to the ground, and continues to laugh silently. His shoulders heave up and down with the effort of trying not to laugh out loud. Eventually it subsides.

Joshua catches a cold glare from Florimel, from her seat upon the low chair. A servant comes up to the prince. "Your Grace, may I offer you some water to dispel the convulsions?"

"No, my good man, water will not quell the fire in these hearts. Fetch me some more ale, a mug for everyone here. Be quick now, we best douse these fiery tempers with cold refreshing ale."

A dubious look crossed the man's face, but he is obedient. "Yes, your Grace. Right away..." Within minutes, more golden ale is being offered among the crowd.

Nearby, he can hear Florimel murmur..."By the unicorn, what does he think he's doing?"

Martel strides over to Rowan, intense and radiating power. He stops a pace away from his cousin. He looks directly into Rowan's eyes with his own, dark and deadly.

"Did you have something you needed to speak aloud, cousin?"

The words are measured and precise, cold as ice. Hard. Martel has a reputation of breaking men and beasts through sheer personality, and no one has ever seen him back down. Ever.

Rowan returns Martel's gaze. He takes a sip of his ale and sighs.

"Get back to your kennel, Martel. I think you might have come to the end of your chain. Return soon, or your master shall not feed and scratch your belly tonight." With the reply Rowan smiles.

"Do you consider it demeaning to kneel to your king?" Martel says clearly, levelly.

A peculiar murmur breaks across the gathering, and a crowd gathers around. Those near Gerard and Random cannot help but hear the reply, spoken so that nearly any noble of importance is drawn in.

"The less of this I must engage in..." Martin trails off, watching Martel and Rowan glare at each other, the guffawing of Joshua punctuating the air. "Damn it, now the trouble starts!"

"Pray then, Martin, be careful," Cat whispered, as she looked on her cousin with genuine concern. "Rowan is very much his father's son, to be certain."

Martin shook his head. "No, Rowan is...a pale shadow."

As Martin walked away, Cat moved toward her father and his company.

"I shall explain MYSELF to the King, NOT to his son! Unless his son thinks that is ready to become the new King of Amber. Can rumors be true? Martel do you have an army waiting in others shadows to attack our Kingdom?" with that Rowan's voice becomes louder.

"I, Rowan of Amber, have sworn fealty to Amber and to the King. Was it not I that brought down the traitorous Leonardo in Seville? Am I mistaken or wasn't he an acquaintance of yours? ... No I might be wrong there... No matter. I rule Seville in the accordance of King Random. I am a servant to the Crown of Amber! IEEYE!" Rowan lifts his right fist in the air yells a war cry, followed by a few servants and a few nobles returning a yell.

Like a rock in a storm-tossed sea, Martel watches Rowan's antics stoically. Waiting a brief moment, he speaks.

"First you lay a shameful and libelous accusation against me, then proclaim your own glories. You even claim loyalty to Random. Yet you ignore the question put to you."

Martel locks the crowd in with his eyes, captivating them with his iron voice.

"You just compared the king and I to Martin and his dog. Do you consider it beneath yourself to kneel to your king? Is it demeaning to you, Rowan? Show us a better way then, instead of accusing me falsely and besmirching our fealty to our lord king."

Rowan then returns his gaze at Martel and whispers so that only Martel and those close to him or Rowan can hear. "I am done with you." and with that Rowan returns with a pleased smirk on his face.

A voice rings through the clear air, at once regal and powerful, despite it's low tone and soft pitch. It cuts through the murmur of the crowd and silences the field near Arden like a blanket.

"Yet, We am not done with either of you."

Random steps down from his saddle, his face a study of control and cunning. He seems, for the first time in many years, a king again.

Isadora lets him pass and then gracefully moves to hold the reins of his horse. Wine cup still in her hand as she watches Random approach Martel and Rowan. Her glance wanders for a moment to where her father, Caine, stood near Julian trying to see the expression on his face before she shifts her gaze back to the confrontation between Random and Rowan.

Julian looks amused, his cool smile offset by the predatory look in his eyes. Caine is frowning, one hand stroking the top of one dagger fastened to his left thigh.

Under her breath, Bleys and Arathorn could hear her whisper, "Children..."

He trods the grassy sward to where Rowan and Martel were standing, seeming taller than his height would allow.

"My ambitious son has knelt to his King...what of you, Rowan?" The nobles and servants remain still, but Bleys' chuckle carries on the air.

Rowan looks at Random and he smiles "If the King of Amber requires me to bow each day to him, I shall." With that Rowan stands and waits for a response from the King.

For a moment, the smaller man gazed blankly at the larger, well-muscled Prince. Then with a hand Random gestured to the dew-moist sward of grass that lay trampled before him, mixed with moist mud and crushed autumn flowers.

"Pray," he said, his voice tinged with amusement and a trace of impatience, "do act on your enthusiasm young Rowan. Kneel before me." His gaze flicks from Rowan to Martel, to Rowan again.

"The both of you," he adds.

A slight murmur goes through the crowd, as they realize something unusual is beginning...

Arathorn visibly stiffened his posture as Random continued to draw out the uncomfortable drama. With a reassuring glance toward Rowan, Arathorn made his way to stand beside Vincent.

Vincent shot a quick glance and nod to his cousin, but resumed studying the events unfolding with the King. He dared breath... the tension was deliciously palpable.

Rowan knelt in the mud, and a moment later was joined by Prince Martel.

"Don't look at me...look at the ground," Random directed, his voice mildly annoyed. "Martin," he continued, "your presence is also desired."

The King's first son tore himself away from the crowd by Cat and Isadora, and approached reluctantly, his face stiff, eyes flickering.

"Father," he said, kneeling next to Martel and Rowan in the mud.

A moment passes.

Random placed his booted foot on Rowan's shoulder. Mud stains his clothing. "We shall make an end of this nonsense. You are no longer King of Seville. The position will go to Leopold's cousin, Franco. No member of this family will hold royal positions in the Golden Circle, as of this point onward. Such appointments as made by the Regent Gerard, and are null and void in our reign. We also believe it too greatly inflames your self-worth, Rowan. What crusts you have to eat are by the kindness of the royal hand."

"If our own son is a dog, then why should you not also feel the pull of our leash?" he queries.

He turns to Martel. "I don't trust you. You have your merits, however. You have long decried the state of Amber's army. Both yourself and Rowan are renown for military exploits, and since my brother Bleys,"

...He waves toward the red-haired rogue, who smiles in return, raising a goblet of fresh wine...

"...As he has no taste for such mundane matters, it will be decided between yourself and Rowan who shall be the new Marshall of the Armies over Tallyrand."

Tallyrand perks up, his face concerned, stroking his moustache.

Random continues, "Both of you are to select a company of Our men each, name it however you want and take 30 days to train them...in a month's time there shall be a competition between your forces in the field. The winner will be Our Marshall."

Simply, he walks to Martin, whose face has reddened during the chastisement of his brother and cousin, and places a hand on his shoulder.

Cat watched in rapt attention, as did the rest of the crowd. Not a breath could be heard amongst them..

"Oh, yes. Martin, We officially name you Our heir."

The crowd is silent.

Rowan stands wiping the mud off his shirt. He then waits until Random and the others are a few feet away. Rowan then bellows loudly.

"So be it, King of Amber. I shall remove myself and MY forces from the Kingdom of Seville."

Random turns, looking over his shoulder. "Goodness now, lad. Leave the troops be...how else are we to monitor our good subject Franco? Only you are removed from Seville."

Rowan then turns and walks to his horse, ignoring the looks, stares and finger pointing from the others. Getting onto the horse he sits waiting bored and impatient.

Joshua raises an eyebrow at the recent exchange, gulps his ale down, and walks over to his horse. After a brief check of his equipment, he mounts and flicks the heel of his boot into the horse’s flank. Both rider and mount walk steadily over to stand next to Rowan and his mount. Joshua looks around at the assembled crowd, leans over and speaks quietly to Rowan.

[Private Conversation Between Joshua and Rowan]]

*****

Isadora watched the events and as Random made his declarations against Martel and Rowan, she again glanced to where Julian, Talleyrand and Caine stood. Noting each of their expressions.

As Random turned to go back towards them, she bowed her head to him and offered the reins to his horse back to him. Waiting for him to mount again she still held the wine she had gotten for him earlier.

In a soft voice she says, "Sire, would you like more wine?" Offering him the cup she held towards him.

"There's a girl," Random brightens, looking over at Bleys. "Few are there who see to the needs of their liege willingly."

Bleys looked blandly around, nodding lightly at the comment absentmindedly. "Remarkable, Sire."

Random took the cup and downs half in a single gulp, the fermented liquid sloshing over his chin as he did so. "Ah! Thank you Isadora, you are quite thoughtful. No poison in it was there?"

Laughter poured out of Random's throat as he tossed back his head, his slight frame shaking in mirth. A number of heads turned at the sound, particularly the mention of the word 'poison'.

*****

"Martin, I need to speak with you a moment" Martel gestures to one side.

Martin nods, and comes along, head low, gazing at the ground.

[Private Conversation Between Martin and Martel]

*****

*****

Martel returns the smile, with a hint of sadness about the corners of the mouth.

"Yes, dear Cat, a most timely and excellent suggestion. The mounts, men and hounds are over there behind those tents. Let us go to them and prepare."

He offers his arm if Cat will take it, and makes sure that Isadora and Martin are following before walking to their gear.

Isadora would quietly walk behind them and call to the servant holding her horse to bring it forward to her. She mounts her own horse and waits for the others to get in place for the hunt to begin.

Cat slid her arm into Martel's, and walked with him. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

[Private Conversation Between Cat and Martel, with Martin]

Martel helps Cat with her preparations, if needed, then prepares his two hunters, ten hounds, and hawk for the signal, which will start the hunt.

*****

The newly arrived young Prince gets a lazy wave and smile from his fiery-haired uncle, Bleys. Dressed in orange and red finery, and an outrageously dandified hat, he seems to be highly amused. A moment later, he turns to address a young maiden, kissing her fingers through the silk of her glove...

Kalaran acknowledges his uncle’s wave, with a nod of his own blond head, a glint in his eye, a wide smile, and a small wave of his hand.

Kalaran handed his prize falcon to an awaiting servant. "Take good care of Goldenwing my good man, he is my best bird and has much work to do later."

Kalaran looked around at the crowd and spotting the faces of his cousins he prodded his horse in their direction. Seeing Isadora, Cat, Martin, and Martel, he waves hello. "Good Day Cousins! I trust I am in time for the hunt. I am sorry that duties to my mother prevented me from the pleasure of your company earlier. I hope I haven't missed anything of import?"

Martel has just double-checked Cat and Isadora's tack, and looks up at the approaching Kalaran. He is wearing russet hunting leathers with a black woolen cloak fastened with a brass griffin broach

" Greetings, Kalaran. By her absence your mother is missed, and yourself too. Glad to see you here."

Martel walks over to Kalaran, clapping a sword-callused hand onto his cousin's shoulder. "Oh, to say you've missed something is understated!"

"Thank You Martel, for your warm greeting. Mother sends her regrets, that she has been delayed by the responsibilities of her position. And I believe she will, no doubt, join in on this event as soon as she can. Meanwhile you must catch me up on all that has occurred. It sounds as if I've missed a great deal!"

Martel mounts his horse, Cinnoch, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Vincent is back; Arathorn and Julian exchanged opinions. Rowan is still angry about being young, wealthy, and immortal. Random stripped Rowan of his possessions in Seville. Rowan and I will meet on the field of battle to decide who will be the next Marshall. Martin was declared the heir to the throne by Random." Martel makes a satisfied nod, looking at Kalaran with a slight grin.

"Yes, I do believe we've had a bit of a morning."

Kalaran pets the gray's neck as he listens to Martel's summary of the events of the morning so far. Kal lets out a low whistle and replies.

"Amazing what can be missed in this family, and all before the hunt even begins! I can only hope that the hunt proves to be as interesting."

" Martel leans forward in the saddle. Cinnoch flicks his ears back, trying to decide if this would be an opportunity to throw this impertinent two-legged creature off of its back. While the horse makes up its mind , Martel asks "Hunting alone, or with company?"

Kalaran takes his falcon from the waiting servant. "Thank you my good man, it's time for Goldenwing's exercise."

Then Kalaran gives Martel a toothsome smile and there is a twinkle in his blue eyes. "I've arrived a bit too late to group with any others for the hunt. And I'm afraid you'll have to forgive the pun, but I'm just going to have to go stag on this one!"

Martel laughs pleasantly, and watches Kalaran ready his bird of prey, until the horn sounds calling the hunt to order. As he rides off Martel calls, "I really must get to know you better. Go catch that Hart and tell me a tale tonight!

With that, Martel is off.