Ainion had left a while ago and Rodwen paced her room, unsure if Daeron would be mad at her.
"He did say not to ask questions," She reasoned with herself and stared at her arm, "But I am his guest. He probably won't even notice that I'm clean."
She waited a few moments before going to his dining room for dinner. Daeron usually just yelled at her to come for dinner, but deciding to be civil for a change, she went to meet him.
Daeron was lying on his stomach when Rodwen found him in the dining room, the carcass of deer staining the floor. He pawed at it, slicing the flesh and blood poured from the animal.
"Uh, hello," She began and Daeron ignored her, continuing his work on the kill. "How do you cook it exactly?" She ventured, knowing it was a question, but asked it anyway.
Daeron stopped his pawing and turned his red jaws toward her.
"I don't usually," He answered and licked his lips. "For you, I just scorch it until it is no longer red."
Rodwen felt sick and nodded. Daeron snorted and turned back to the deer.
"This is why I call you down when I am finished carving, Rodwen." He said, amused, his voice accompanied by the sound of clanking pots.
She looked away when he moved onto the flank, choosing to sit at the table with her good arm over her eyes.
"Ainion mentioned something about you earlier," She said, trying to drown out the noise of ripping flesh. "He said that you used to be a scholar."
Daeron growled slightly, steam coming out of his nostrils.
"What else did the chicken tell you?" He hissed, wing flexing irritably. "Damn that bird and his big mouth, he never could shut up."
Word Count: 300.