Sitting down felt good. The day had been a long one, with more than a little bit of walking in not-entirely-fitting boots. He imagined the bone-deep ache that would welcome him when he got back to Three Streams from the unusual exercise - like after the first days of harvest. Relaxing a little, he let his still strange and foreign legs stretch out flat on the floor. The skirt of his padded tunic lay flat on them now, reaching down to just above his dimpled knees. From there, there was lightly tanned skin until you reached mid calf, where the black leather tops of his new boots started.<br/><br/>Arran yawned, looked up and said: "Fuck, but I've got a long way to go tomorrow. And there's no easier way of doing that either. Mind if I sleep here? Otherwise, I can head back to the Golden Wench - though these boots aren't really made for sneaking or climbing."