"This is Abigail," Artemus told the blond as he helped her take off her boots. The anti mage had left Abigail with some nuns so they could properly bathe and clothe her after the journey she'd endured with a group of men. "I have to find her relatives if she has any left."
"How old is Abigail?" Rowan asked as he smiled at the polite child.
"I don't know. How old are you?" Artemus asked her.
"Eight years old," she answered in a very quiet voice.
"A brave eight-year-old girl," Artemus praised her. "Are you hungry?"
She shook her head. Her hair had been washed and dried thoroughly and Artemus could finally see the chestnut undertones of her wavy blonde locks.
"I've got some snacks," Rowan offered. "You don't have to feel hungry to snack."
"You keep snacks?" Artemus asked as if such an idea offended his narrative of the person that Rowan was.
