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Authors: Anne Plichota
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Fairyman chastely pressed his beloved’s hand. Dragomira ushered Pavel, Zoe and Oksa out of the cabin.
“Baba?” whispered Oksa, wanting to know more.
“The past is dead and gone but we can always improve the present,” she replied enigmatically.
Oksa looked at her quizzically. She’d have liked to know more, but it seemed destined to remain a private matter, since Dragomira was already changing the subject.
“I could murder a nice hot cup of tea!” exclaimed Baba Pollock.
“I’d need several pints of the stuff to recover from last night,” declared Pavel, pulling a face. “There’s no two ways about it, I’m getting much too old for this lark.”
“Poor old fogey,” teased Oksa.
She tried to glance back into the wheelhouse, but Dragomira had already closed the door. Well, it was worth a try…
“Can you manage or would you like to lean your weary old bones on me, Dad?” she asked in the same vein.
“Come here then, you sarky so-and-so!” replied Pavel, playing along. “What about you, Zoe? Will you lend an arm to help your prehistoric uncle too? I need all the support I can get in my decrepit old age.”
He tousled their hair affectionately, and the three of them followed Dragomira towards the centre of the ship.
When they walked into the mess room, almost all the Runaways were already sitting around a table laden with a gargantuan breakfast zealously prepared by the three Lunatrixes. The Fortensky clan was there, along with the Knuts and Cockerell’s family. As soon as Oksa came through the door the room fell silent, which did nothing to put the Young Gracious at ease. She met Tugdual’s deceptively casual but irresistibly intense gaze and was unable to stop her cheeks flushing bright red and her heart racing. “Well done, Oksa-san!” she thought angrily. “Now everyone knows you’re crazy about him.”
“Hiya, Lil’ Gracious,” said Tugdual, chewing on a piece of toast thickly spread with marmalade.
On the other side of the table, Kukka looked Oksa up and down, sniggering mockingly. Oksa was flustered. Kukka made her feel like a boring, stupid fool infatuated by a boy who was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse. She couldn’t seem to shake off that mental picture of a mouse… Kukka haughtily tossed back her luxuriant blonde hair and her beautiful eyes bored into Oksa’s. Oksa felt stung, as if Kukka had just poured vinegar into the wound she’d inflicted, and she shivered. Tugdual’s face darkened when he realized that his vindictive cousin was upsetting Oksa, and he quickly intervened: with a flick of his finger, he sent the roll shewas buttering with excessive care flying into the air. She gave a yell of rage and hurled her plate at him, which he easily ducked with a mocking smile.
“My respects, Young Gracious!” broke in Cameron, putting a halt to the quarrel between the two warring cousins.
In complete contrast to Kukka’s haughty glare, Leomido’s son was gazing at Oksa with a deferential, almost fascinated, expression in his eyes, which made Oksa feel much better. She sat down at the breakfast table and took refuge behind a huge bowl of tea.
“The honour is entire to welcome you to this refectory,” said Dragomira’s Lunatrix, greeting the three new arrivals. “Your domestic staff has multiplied his efforts to sheathe the taste buds and stomachs of the Runaways in satisfaction.”
“I don’t doubt it, my dear Lunatrix,” answered Dragomira gratefully.
“Your physiognomies make demonstration of great exhaustion and strong agitation,” remarked the little creature, his attention fixed on Pavel in particular.
“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Dragomira, looking at the Runaways’ haggard faces.
“But we all know you have a small phial hidden in the folds of your dress that will revive us. Isn’t that the case, my dear mother?”
“That’s my son,” Dragomira said confidingly to lighten the mood. “He knows me better than I know myself…
“Baba?” whispered Oksa, wanting to know more.
“The past is dead and gone but we can always improve the present,” she replied enigmatically.
Oksa looked at her quizzically. She’d have liked to know more, but it seemed destined to remain a private matter, since Dragomira was already changing the subject.
“I could murder a nice hot cup of tea!” exclaimed Baba Pollock.
“I’d need several pints of the stuff to recover from last night,” declared Pavel, pulling a face. “There’s no two ways about it, I’m getting much too old for this lark.”
“Poor old fogey,” teased Oksa.
She tried to glance back into the wheelhouse, but Dragomira had already closed the door. Well, it was worth a try…
“Can you manage or would you like to lean your weary old bones on me, Dad?” she asked in the same vein.
“Come here then, you sarky so-and-so!” replied Pavel, playing along. “What about you, Zoe? Will you lend an arm to help your prehistoric uncle too? I need all the support I can get in my decrepit old age.”
He tousled their hair affectionately, and the three of them followed Dragomira towards the centre of the ship.
When they walked into the mess room, almost all the Runaways were already sitting around a table laden with a gargantuan breakfast zealously prepared by the three Lunatrixes. The Fortensky clan was there, along with the Knuts and Cockerell’s family. As soon as Oksa came through the door the room fell silent, which did nothing to put the Young Gracious at ease. She met Tugdual’s deceptively casual but irresistibly intense gaze and was unable to stop her cheeks flushing bright red and her heart racing. “Well done, Oksa-san!” she thought angrily. “Now everyone knows you’re crazy about him.”
“Hiya, Lil’ Gracious,” said Tugdual, chewing on a piece of toast thickly spread with marmalade.
On the other side of the table, Kukka looked Oksa up and down, sniggering mockingly. Oksa was flustered. Kukka made her feel like a boring, stupid fool infatuated by a boy who was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse. She couldn’t seem to shake off that mental picture of a mouse… Kukka haughtily tossed back her luxuriant blonde hair and her beautiful eyes bored into Oksa’s. Oksa felt stung, as if Kukka had just poured vinegar into the wound she’d inflicted, and she shivered. Tugdual’s face darkened when he realized that his vindictive cousin was upsetting Oksa, and he quickly intervened: with a flick of his finger, he sent the roll shewas buttering with excessive care flying into the air. She gave a yell of rage and hurled her plate at him, which he easily ducked with a mocking smile.
“My respects, Young Gracious!” broke in Cameron, putting a halt to the quarrel between the two warring cousins.
In complete contrast to Kukka’s haughty glare, Leomido’s son was gazing at Oksa with a deferential, almost fascinated, expression in his eyes, which made Oksa feel much better. She sat down at the breakfast table and took refuge behind a huge bowl of tea.
“The honour is entire to welcome you to this refectory,” said Dragomira’s Lunatrix, greeting the three new arrivals. “Your domestic staff has multiplied his efforts to sheathe the taste buds and stomachs of the Runaways in satisfaction.”
“I don’t doubt it, my dear Lunatrix,” answered Dragomira gratefully.
“Your physiognomies make demonstration of great exhaustion and strong agitation,” remarked the little creature, his attention fixed on Pavel in particular.
“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Dragomira, looking at the Runaways’ haggard faces.
“But we all know you have a small phial hidden in the folds of your dress that will revive us. Isn’t that the case, my dear mother?”
“That’s my son,” Dragomira said confidingly to lighten the mood. “He knows me better than I know myself…
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