[He looks around to see if anyone's around to collect her, or look after her, or something. When it doesn't seem like she belongs to anyone, though, nor that anyone's frantically searching for a lost, sleepy princess, he sighs again, unbuttons his cloak, and starts to fold it into a square.]
You're an easy target for robbers, you know.
[Very carefully, he slides his hand under her head so he can lift it and set his folded cloak under her like a pillow. Then he sits back on his heels and considers his next options. Should he just stay until she wakes up? Look for help? He'd rather not risk losing his cloak, but her waking and finding him here would be embarrassing. For him, anyway.
Hmm.
He takes out his journal, tears free a page, and starts to write a message. 'Return cloak to,' he begins, but has to pause. He knows where he's meant to live, but like hell is he giving that address to some strange girl who's fallen unconscious on the grass. He runs his thumb up and down the quill's feather, then finishes:
'Return cloak to marketplace fountain. Noon tomorrow. You're welcome.'
He folds and tucks the paper under her head, too, and decides to wait nearby until she at least seems to be coming back around. That's when he'll take his leave. Safest for both of them that way.]
no subject
Don't sleep in the street. Honestly...
[He looks around to see if anyone's around to collect her, or look after her, or something. When it doesn't seem like she belongs to anyone, though, nor that anyone's frantically searching for a lost, sleepy princess, he sighs again, unbuttons his cloak, and starts to fold it into a square.]
You're an easy target for robbers, you know.
[Very carefully, he slides his hand under her head so he can lift it and set his folded cloak under her like a pillow. Then he sits back on his heels and considers his next options. Should he just stay until she wakes up? Look for help? He'd rather not risk losing his cloak, but her waking and finding him here would be embarrassing. For him, anyway.
Hmm.
He takes out his journal, tears free a page, and starts to write a message. 'Return cloak to,' he begins, but has to pause. He knows where he's meant to live, but like hell is he giving that address to some strange girl who's fallen unconscious on the grass. He runs his thumb up and down the quill's feather, then finishes:
'Return cloak to marketplace fountain. Noon tomorrow. You're welcome.'
He folds and tucks the paper under her head, too, and decides to wait nearby until she at least seems to be coming back around. That's when he'll take his leave. Safest for both of them that way.]