"What do you an, you can't leave?"
Noble furrowed her brow.
Flint looked down.
"I arrived at the rear of the caravan. When it stopped, I tried to co and see what was happening up front, but I couldn't get more than a hundred ters through the crowd. I decided to forget it and leave the people behind to head directly for Bastion, but I only got about the sa distance from my starting point. When the wagons started to move again, I felt a tug. I was forced to follow along because of this."
The Legacy pointed at his waist. A leather belt was cinched tightly around him.
It hadn't been part of his armor when they entered the Nightmare, but Noble assud it was a mory he had summoned after coming to the caravan.
That assumption was wrong.
It made so sense. Flint wasn't the kind of man to stick around.
Their first objective had been to et at the fortress of Bastion. Unlike Noble, the other Master had a sense of direction and hadn't been turned around by a frightening fall.
While he could have stayed to gather information, it seed Flint was delayed by sothing more.
"I cannot get more than a hundred ters from the last wagon. The cook gave the tray to bring, but I couldn't co to you until the kitchen rolled into the clearing and gave enough length."
"You an you are chained to that cart over there?"
Noble looked toward the largest wagon, where a woman stood on the back step with a sour expression. Though she wasn't looking at Noble, the plump cook's scowl still sent a shiver down the Master's spine.
"That ghastly woman won't let forget it," Flint lanted, earning a small bit of sympathy from his companion. "Even now, I can feel myself on the edge of it. Watch this."
The surly Master stepped twice toward the south and then grunted. No matter how much he pushed his feet against the ground, he could not continue on his path.
Flint grunted. Noble's violet eyes swirled. She lifted the man off the ground and urged him forward, but even their combined efforts did no good. Flint could move backward or side to side, but the radius he could travel from the kitchen was fixed.
What was even more curious was that their combined efforts should have easily dragged the wagon and the woman on it in their direction, but both seed unbothered by the two Masters' efforts.
'That's…not good.'
"Co back with . I'll talk to Lady Syrce. Surely there is sothing that can be done."
As obnoxious as Flint was, Noble would not leave him behind when she chose to depart. It would be good to deal with the problem sooner rather than later.
"Good. Let's get this over with." Flint tugged at the belt. His unpleasant expression was almost as bad as the cooks.
"Rember, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar." Noble forced a smile.
"I hate flies. They're almost as obnoxious as people." Flint waved his hand in the air. "But I get your point. I'll be a gentleman."
'Wouldn't that be novel?'
Flint relaxed his face, and the pair returned to the picnic blanket. Orrin was already there, relaying his report on the status of the caravan.
"Everyone is here and accounted for. No one was lost in the woods. With the help of the Pink Ones, we will have our water tanks refilled in under an hour. I recomnd that once they are, we continue on our way until dusk."
"Your suggestion is noted, and I agree. We will all feel more at ease if we put so distance between ourselves and the colorful trees before dark." Syrce nodded. "It is so ordered."
"Yes, My Lady." Orrin bowed and left to relay the command.
Seeing Noble return, the mossy-haired Saint smiled brightly. "Bel!"
"Forgive for keeping you waiting, My Lady." Noble bowed as she approached the sitting Saint.
Syrce waved her hand through the air. "You do not need to apologize. I imagine you two have a lot of catching up to do."
"Yes," Noble paused. "I don't suppose you would allow Titus to join us? That is, unless he has other duties which you prefer him to complete."
Flint glared at her. Noble coughed.
"It would an a lot to if he could sit with us a while," she added belatedly.
'Be pleasant or I'll retract my request!' The floating Master sent a jolt of happiness to her grumpy companion.
He seed to get the ssage, for his pout disappeared.
"Of course, my third-in-command is always welco at my table. We aren't moving, so Titus has no duty just now, unless he wants to go back to answering Cook's every whim." Syrce giggled.
"Third-in-command? You an...I'm not that cook's servant?" Flint blinked.
"It's a shock to too, I assure you," Syrce's bubbling laugh grew. "You must be very sweet on her to be so attentive."
"Sweet on her?! That woman has been bossing around like she owns the place. Why, I ought to..." Flint got a dangerous look in his eyes.
He glanced over toward the cart where the rolling kitchen was located. Noble could feel his ire.
Soone who could successfully order Flint around could not be taken lightly. But now that the cantankerous Master knew he had been unjustly used as so mundane cook's lackey, he was ready to exact revenge.
If the two sour souls went toe to toe, Noble wasn't sure who would win.
Not that she wanted to find out. Noble nudged Flint roughly.
"Titus! Lady Syrce is gracious enough to share her al with us. I am sure you and Cook can have your intimate discussion later."
"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you for the invitation, Lady Syrce. I am most honored to be among such esteed company. Lady Bel, allow ." Flint bowed deeply and then held out his hand to help Noble sit.
The blonde hid her shock and accepted the assistance. She floated to just above the blanket and accepted the cup of tea from the Saint.
"This will do wonders for you, my dear. Drink it up before it gets too cold." Syrce nodded.
"Thank you."
Noble looked at the delicate saucer below the plate. It was more intricate than anything she had seen even at the palace in Crestfell. It looked very out of place in the middle of the woods among a company of soldiers.
The porcelain felt cool against her fingers even as she felt the warmth of the liquid against her lips.
The fragrance of the liquid was a mix of bitter and earthy. Her lips tingled.
'Not bad. It could use a bit of honey.'
She lowered the cup and held it in her lap. "That is unlike anything I've ever tasted."
"Most people say that," Syrce nodded. "It is quite exotic. Would you like so, Titus?"
The man in question shook his head. "No, thank you, ma'am."
'He looks more like he would enjoy exotic at than exotic tea…'
A picture of the rough Master having high tea with his clan wearing his usual salty expression made Noble giggle to herself.
Syrce's smile widened. "I am glad you like the tea, dear one. Since you are in such a good mood, may I ask you a question?"
"Anything," Noble lifted the cup to her mouth again.
The Saint's grey eyes stared steadily forward. "Who's Flint?"
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