To her right, a squire sprinted through the grass, taking clumsy steps without paying attention to his direction. Or his path.
At the last minute, he skidded to a stop but not soon enough to catch his step. Losing his balance, Conan fell in a heap beside Gillian and her dogs. Well-trained was an adjective better suited to her pets than to this boy.
He yelped out an apology as he came crashing down. Better than the swear word clinging to his tongue, about to fly off due to relief at not having spilled her hot coffee all over his face. (Regarding level of Pain, he expected the scalding of that drink would be second to the scolding he'd receive from his mother.) Heart pounding in his ears, the boy gulped and stared at the pair of canines. A second passed before he broke eye contact with the dogs. He felt the gaze of passers-by flicker to the fiasco before returning to their own business.
"Sorry." Again. This time and looked at last at the woman he almost ran over. He sniffed and brought his sleeve to his face, rubbing off a smudge of dirt. "Wasn't watching my step, ma'am."