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Tayila burst into the common room. Dawn had long since passed, and Tayila had only just remembered while dancing through the kitchens as pies were baked and meals were prepared that the morn's feast was for the wards. One of whom Tayila was handmaiden to, and would have to apologise to - again - for having forgotten. It was not that she despised Manasa Stark - they had had too few days upon meeting for Tayila to truly form an opinion of the Northern lady - but she had no idea of what to think of her.

But she came to a sudden stop, slippered feet sliding against carpet in an effort to catch herself. There, before Manasa's door, was the Stark girl's lynx, standing sentry to her mistress' room. Tayila made to creep forward, but thought better of it as the lynx's watchful eyes weighed heavily on her approach. With a frustrated sound, Tayila ran back into the bellies of the common room, only to pass by a window and spy a familiar figure already halfway in the direction of the dining hall. [color=f7941d]"Seven hells,"[/color] Tayila huffed under her breath. [color=f7941d]"Of course."[/color] With a sigh of growing irritation, Tayila weightlessly skipped a few steps before launching herself into the corridors again.

It took barrelling down several lesser-known passages and hallways before Tayila came to the dining hall. While her veins thrummed with rushing adrenaline, her breaths came easily and her forehead was free of perspiration. Running through throngs of peasants in Flea Bottom as one herself from angry merchants to avoid shaking fists gave one incredible stamina and calloused feet. Slowing her steps, Tayila walked into the hall, collecting her skirts so as to lengthen her strides. She could see the direwolf Echo among the wards, and right beside it sat Manasa. 

She approached the wards at their table, and curtsied, feeling foolish as she did. [color=f7941d]"Milords and ladies,"[/color] she greeted, a lowborn's cadence catching her words. She would strike casual conversation with someone, but she wagered lords and ladies did not find handmaidens very welcomed conversationalists. 

Tayila turned to Manasa. [color=f7941d]"Lady Manasa."[/color] Her gaze flickered over Manasa's face, the markings drawing her eyes, before it skittered over her attire for the day. [color=f7941d]"I trust your sleep was restful. Will you be participating in the tourney today?"[/color] How odd for a lady. Most preferred to sit with their skirts about them and clap and gasp as lances clashed, and swoon and giggle as singers sang of victorious champions and fair maidens.