Nimue vacillated between being angry with Maric and being excited to meet the other paladins. When he had cupped her face and kissed her forehead like a five year old child, she had wanted to kick him in the shins, bite his hand or close her eyes to feel the benediction. Resisting the urge for violence, she coldly turned to walk down the hill.<br/><br/>She was really hurt by his crack about his squire being quieter than her. What did it matter that his words were uttered with a teasing tone? Words said in jest are often the truest words spoken. No wonder he didn’t want to take her as a squire! She thought angrily dashing tears from her eyes. How could she be quiet? She thought rebelliously kicking at a stone, stubbing toe in the process. Limping along, she clenched her fists and ground her teeth.<br/><br/>How many times a day did someone for as long as she could remember tell her to stop talking? She had lost count. How could she help it if she found life interesting and full of joy, well, before and after the raiders. Goddess knows there was nothing good during the raid. And if life was interesting, why shouldn’t she talk about it?<br/><br/>By the time they had walked down the mountain side, Nimue was fuming.