Story of the Day: Cake at the Donnegals'
Today is Boudicca and Rautu's anniversary. To celebrate, here is a story about cake and a WIP of Rautu eating some of his favourite slices.
|Part of a HUGE mural that Twisk is making for book 2|
Cake was pronounced once everyone had declared themselves too full for movement, but mention of Martje’s masterwork gave animation to the otherwise languid who must have a taste. Rautu, Adaoire and Aiden, the three to ever have room for cake, found themselves unequal to the exertion required for plucking the various cherry slices from the surface. The buttercream icing could be tolerated if only mildly so, but as the cherry flavour had already been transferred, the three were decided that to salvage the soft delight beneath was futile. They left the division and the consumption of cake to others, and despite Alasdair’s profuse protestations of not possibly being able to eat another bite, he accepted his slice with chary graciousness. He would permit himself a few licks of the icing but nothing solid could be eaten; he was already beginning to calculate how much exercise he would need to do in order to fit into his jerkin on the morrow. He did, however, find a way of removing all of the icing from his slice, much to his own surprise though he would denied having eaten it, and did his utmost to share the remains with his wife and son. As Carrigh had already received a slice for herself, Dorrin must be prevailed upon to eat the remainder of his cake before his healthy conscience should give away and demand that he devour it against his weakening will. Dorrin, however, was busy sharing his mother’s piece and could not be asked to finish what his father would not.
I mustn’t eat it, he entreated himself while wincing at the delectable and cleaned slice. I have already eaten more than I should have. Whom can I give this to? And Alasdair began searching around the table for those with empty plates when he noticed that three at the end of the table had no cake or crumb-filled plates before them. “Would any of you gentlemen like to relieve me of this?” he said, happily waggling his plate before them.
For the Den Asaan to accept, he would have to concede that the king had done him a service in removing the most objectionable part of the cake, and as he had already designs of stealing the same portion from his mate’s plate, he declined the offer and allowed the twins to dispute amid themselves. They had not time to discuss which of them would have the glory of eating his majesty’s scraps when Little Jaicobh suddenly hopped down from his grandfather’s knee and snatched the plate from Alasdair’s hand.
“Thank you,” he said in the smallest voice.
Everyone marveled and laughed at the small child’s sudden animation and glow of spirits as he conveyed his precious item from the king to Ouryn. The young girl had been hiding behind her father’s chair and had been too reticent to accept her piece of cake when it was offered her. Few had seen her shyness overrule her desire, and when Little Jaicobh had witnessed it, he leapt at the first opportunity to implement his intermittent openness. He brought the cake to her place behind Tomas’ chair and raised it for her to take from him.
“For you,” he sweetly sang.
Ouryn gawked at her benefactor in tremulous silence. She made a slender effort to place one foot forward but she soon found all powers of self-persuasion unnecessary when Little Jaicobh suddenly joined her in the corner and sat at her feet.
“Cake with you,” the child giggled, still holding the plate toward her.
She eventually sat, as she knew she must, and did so without turning her glance from him. He smiled and chuckled and broke off pieces of cake for her to eat, and she took them without a word or a smile, bemused by the young boy and yet contended to be so close to him.