Someone else, a woman with an inherently warm and motherly temperament perhaps, would’ve quickly helped the boy to his feet and attempted to alleviate his nerves. Gillian Goodwin, however, was no such character, and so she remained standing as she was, her steaming cup of coffee now carefully held away from the young man who had almost succeeded in spilling it. And while their owner was busy looking skeptical, the dogs were rather thrilled to meet this new stranger—Edmond, the larger of the two, came up to sniff at the boy first, while Mercedes contented herself to wag her tail in excitement.
“Late for something important?” Gillian managed to scrape together some semblance of her usual dry humor, but was otherwise out of her usual element. When it came to the various youths of Emillion, she had all but disavowed herself of their presence. Never had she been one to take an interest in mentoring young squires, or even keeping eye on her younger cousins for that matter, and that was how she liked it.
Too bad for her that this one had practically fell in her lap. She didn’t know what to make of it. “What’s your name? Or better yet, where are you off to running like that?” Gillian took a sip of her coffee and allowed the dogs their curiosity, they exuding more warmth and friendliness than she who kept polite distance. Dressed in civilian attire that morning, the only obvious hint of her profession was the familiar sight of a katana peeking out under her longcoat.