Plaits and Pursed Lips- 52
52 Fire
“Bull, pass the mead.” He held his hand out expectantly, staring at roaring fire in front of him. Or, perhaps, just past the fire at the whelp trying to woo Anne. He was young, blue-eyed and baby-faced, and he’d been grinning at her all day.
Anne, despite sometimes frightening men away, was a very sociable person and had made little, if any, ( Read more... )
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It's Christine. Heard some things about you and I was just wondering how you're doing... Well get back at me on facebook or call me, whichever
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