The past three months had been spent living quietly and simply in the hut at the base of the Tor. Nimue had split her time between her duties with the other acolytes and keeping some semblance of house for Maric. The little house was becoming cozy with bright rag rugs on the floor and white cotton curtains at the windows. Candles burned brightly on the tables and a fire always crackled merrily in the hearth.<br/><br/>Today was no different than any other day and Nimue was singing a happy tune as she swayed along the path as the sun was setting. The basket she carried contained fresh cheese and bread as well as some apple butter made from the apples she had gathered the day she had met Maric. She refused to think about how reticent Maric was to make love to her. He was always sweet and caring. While he was content to wait for word from his guild, he was busy every day improving the cottage, building a corral for the horse and keeping the firewood chopped and neatly stacked. Often at night, he was tired, Nimue knew he trained with his sword and exercised his body to stay in fighting form. He swam in the lake and even helped Rupert with the ferry on occasion.<br/><br/>She watched a pigeon, a bird that was often used by the nobles as a messenger, soaring above. The purples and silvers of its iridescent feathers glittered in the evening's waning sun. Her blood ran cold for a heartbeat and she shook off the feeling that the message he had been waiting for had arrived. She dreaded this message for she was afraid that the Paladins would change everything.