Brightblade looked longingly at a grilled leg of lamb that was sitting just out of her arm's reach, one among several dozens of meticulously prepared dishes that sat before her on the table.
"Could you get that for me?" she said. "My body is still weak from that terrible fight I fought for you. And with my injuries, I just don't have the strength." She sighed woefully as she looked at Arran.
He gave her a brief glare, but he stood up all the same, then walked over to the piece of meat and carefully deposited it on Brightblade's plate. He owed her that much, at least.
"Could you carve it up, as well?" she asked. This time, she was unable to keep a smile from flashing across her face.
Arran sighed, but he did not complain. Although Brightblade was taking full advantage of the situation, she had earned the right to do so. Even if she had no real need for Arran's assistance anymore.
