You spot him across the square, shifting his weight from boot to boot, red hair tousled by the breeze. He’s polishing a spot on his already gleaming armor, then gives up, fiddling nervously with a gauntlet instead. When your eyes meet, he startles—then quickly strides over, straightening up as if facing a dragon.
"Ah—good morrow!" He stammers, then clears his throat. "You, uh… you look radiant. I mean, r-ready for the day! I—may I walk with you?"
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