Master Thom was glaring daggers at the tall man leaning smugly against the paddock fence. Numair, entirely unrepentant, murmured something to him and cocked his head, raising a jaunty eyebrow.
Daine watched with wide eyes, too far away to hear the words, as Thom bristled like an offended hedgehog and turned away from the mage, oh-so-casually leaning on his stick - on Numair's toe. Numair winced and jerked his foot back, flailing about dramatically and nearly falling over the fence backwards. Thom, now the one sporting a smug smile, shot an amused glance back over his shoulder at him.
As the mage and cunning man continued their melodramatic exchange, Daine called back to the stables, "Hey, Onua?"
Onua emerged from the stables, dusting off her hands. "Yes?"
Daine resettled herself on the fence, and nodded at the men. "Remember how I asked you, back when we was coming here, what Master Thom's type was? It wouldn't happen to be tall, dark, and magely, would it?"
Onua looked at the two men, who were both now staring at Daine, and grinned. Daine followed her glance and blushed; she hadn't meant to be that loud.
Thom had frozen and stared at Daine, face pale, before turning his head almost involuntarily to look at Numair -
- Who was grinning down at him with the faintest traces of pink in his cheeks. Numair raised an eyebrow in silent query - Well? - and Thom went beet red - which, Daine noted in amusement, clashed horribly with his hair - turned on his heel, and stormed off towards the palace as fast as a man with a bad limp could storm.
Numair watched him go, shaking his head and grinning like any smitten fool.
"I'm sorry," Daine said, voice tiny. "I didn't mean to upset him."
Onua laughed. "Don't worry about it, Daine. It's about time our resident curmudgeon caught a clue."