<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1b/b2/a7/1bb2a7e9077ca39fae028cc8a5bafd90.jpg)   </div>Lady Amanda Caithwaine (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1425685)<br/>Tagging: Rowan, Stoutly, Florica<br/>Status: Tipsy<br/><hr/><br/>Amanda smiled as the two spoke, taking another long draught of her ale.  "I'm from...well, the same place as this," she smiled down into the amber liquid with a wry expression.  "It's very different.  Wild apples thrive in the Vale; our homes are cultivated within the elder trees, surrounded by life and the energy of the orchards.  The ocean brings life here, too; the salt, the birds, those strange little shelled creatures on the beach.  It's very lovely and adventurous, but I'm not like the two of you.  To put down my own roots, breed a new variety just to taste the perfect tartness on a summer days decades later...long nights at the fireside or noisy children.  Well."  She sighed, took a deep drink and rose from it with her expression cleared and bright, her smile wide.  "It's not for me, though, which is really just fine.  I'm called to serve, and honored by it."  A nod at her own words, noting the inn kept moving a little after she was done.<br/><br/>"Rowan isn't married either.  Not even a boyfriend, which is positively tragic." She raised a brow at Florica, curious how her closemouthed friend would respond.  Knowing she may not even wish to, Amanda deliberately didn't direct a question to the girl, allowing her to step in or let the flirting duo converse on their own.