He was as light as a fae, and twice as dangerous, this displaced lord. He wrapped about her like a particularly intoxicating wine. Bess followed the cadence of the tale with the natural fireside intensity of the poor. He might have stepped out of song to carry her atop the back of a great, midnight stallion to the glade where they had begun. His lands, spread out about them like a mocking to him and the richness and sudden magic of the [i]pique-nique[/i] as foolish as a child's mudpie, still he went on and for a moment, she wondered at when the Fairy Queen might come to steal him back like Tam Lynn. Was he any sight near enough to reality in thinking she should be treasure fit for such a man? She smiled and looked out upon the grove as the came to a stop. The steed tossed his head and Bess sat forward in anticipation of his dismounting. “You speak a gilded toungue, y'do,” she looked over her shoulder to watch him swing down, then slid off herself, grasping his shoulder as she did so. “As I said, 'tis only a Bess ya have.” She stepped from him, then glanced about the glade. With a light laugh, she spun. “It don' matter one wit wha' yer wanted for, I think. Per'aps in tha' other world, but yeh don' have ta live in it right now, do you?” She stopped, grasped her skirts as they flung theirselves abouther legs, and grinned at him. “Come, 'tis nowt wrong wit' havin' a bit of a game, now an' ag'in. When th' moon's full an' the fairy are too high in th' trees to bother, my Reynard is'n a man a'tall, but a dream. Let's keep it tha' way. I'll be your Greensleeves, I will. You be my Reynard. An' like that!,” she stood straight and snapped her fingers between them with a wide smile, “we have a land what no one will e'er be able ta take.”