[b]Robena, Constance[/b]

It is as Constance dictates. Indeed, the very Winter sun seems to be on her side. The trail is slow going back, deer being a much greater load on squires and horses alike than fox, and the sun takes its opportunity to hide below the horizon before your return. Sir Liana absently plucks her harp, wordless low notes hanging in the autumn air. She is tired and more than a little hoarse. Singing upon a hunt is an experience of air rushing into the throat at speed and the dry winter was already inhospitable to a long ballad without such circumstances. Her gaze is still to you, though she is discreet and has learned in her day with you to leave you to your thoughts. 

It is thus that you part at the stables and find yourself, Robena, alone. Alone with your thoughts and your footfalls echoing off the stone of a dark courtyard. A distant lantern sputters weakly, marking the entryway where you ought to head. The fountain runs with chill water. It ought to be frozen, but it has been thawed by servants in your absence and, while running, escapes the chill creeping upon it for the moment. It trickles gently to accompany your footfalls and the sound directs your eye, at last, to the outline of a woman before you, standing before the fountain, arrayed in a long dress outlining her silhouette. She holds herself in the size and style of Constance, though you cannot make out her face as yet. 

Constance, you hear Robena before you see her and then see her, tired after a long day, making her slow way towards the lantern upon the castle. 

Speak first, whoever is so bold!

[b]Tristan[/b]
Your dinner task is assigned to you and none begrudge you the duty. But before that, there is a moment where Constance has arranged her meeting, alone by the fountain. None else are welcome there, for that one place is set for her and for Robena. For you, the trouble is a contrary one. Until you turn to serve Constance, you could be anywhere, doing quite nearly anything you please so long as it is neither too bright nor too noisy. Sir Liana is just returned, tired, quiet, and saddlesore. Lady Sauvage too has returned, though she says not a word and made herself barely known at the back of the hunting party, for the hart was not hers to approach. Sir Hector is tired in her own way, but took the courtesy to bathe and dress in long wools rather than her armor after her routine in the courtyard and is therefore not entirely unapproachable. And Sir Harold is directing the servants to prepare the newly arrived deer for dinner.