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“Fergus?” I said, eyeing the boy, and trying to ignore the goings-on below. The lad was possibly nine or ten, but small for his age, and fine-boned as a ferret. Clad in clean, worn clothes several sizes too big for him, he was also as French as they come, with the pale, sallow skin and big, dark eyes of a Parisian street child.
“Well, his name is really Claudel, but we decided that didna sound verra manly, so he’s to be called Fergus instead. A suitable warrior’s name, that.” Catching the sound of his name— or names— the boy glanced up and grinned shyly at me.
Last edited by author: Sun January 03, 2016 16:51:01
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[> Wee Fergus!! I wonder who decided it wasn't a manly name. Did Claudel confide in this tall stranger who asked for his help? -- kgp, 08:03:39 01/03/16 Sun
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