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You take the offered necklace and place it in your bosom. Though between such old friends such tokens are wholly unnecessary, to refuse it would be to insult her determination. All shall be done tonight, with the greatest haste. You tell her to pack and to meet you at the pier at midnight.
It is a full moon and the skies are clear and filled with light. You have made all the necessary preparations, packed vittles for a day or two (poorer fair than Amelia is used to, to be sure, but it will sustain her just as well). You take her to a spot near the lagoon, not quite within it (for even you are not mad enough to brave the rocks by moonlight), but father northward on the coast. There you leave her with the food and her belongings and a small tent. She is to remain there till you return, which you promise will be sometime in the noon, and thereafter you will take her to the southern port. You are all haste as you dispatch her, your mind on the machinations which you hope will deter the reeve's wrath and absolve you, at the same time, of your uncle's shameful deed. But in the moment when you pause to take a breath, you recognize the absolute privacy in which you and Amelia find yourselves. A look passes between the two of you that makes the both of you flush. Amelia draws closer. In her eyes you can see all that she would wish to say, her gratitude not only for delivering her from this fate but the readiness with which you accepted its risk. In that moment she cannot remember the boy who engaged her once in innocent games, but only, as her hand brushes against your beard and as she stands tip-toe and cranes her neck and asks you to please come with her, as a man grown.
You leave her quickly, before you lose yourself in the passions which, to you, come so rarely. There is no privacy beneath the gaze of God, and there are limits to how far one may aggrieve a father.
In the morning, the disappearance is discovered, both of your uncle and of the reeve's beloved daughter, and it is not difficult to force the two into a collusion. You need not even suggest your candidacy in the search, the reeve commands you to put all your talents toward the task. It seems he had already guessed what was in his daughter's mind and knows of her plans with her aunt. You are tasked to intercept her before she reaches the southern port and for your success are promised ownership of all four of your boats. It is likely the reeve would have given his whole fleet for the return of his only daughter, yet on the matter of the marriage with Lord Royce, he remains immovable. He loves his daughter as much as any father, but cannot cede his ambitions to her "childish passions".
You decide to:
>Continue as planned and bring Amelia to the southern port
>Betray your promise and return Amelia to the reeve for the boats
>See Amelia safely all the way to the continent
>Write-in
It is a full moon and the skies are clear and filled with light. You have made all the necessary preparations, packed vittles for a day or two (poorer fair than Amelia is used to, to be sure, but it will sustain her just as well). You take her to a spot near the lagoon, not quite within it (for even you are not mad enough to brave the rocks by moonlight), but father northward on the coast. There you leave her with the food and her belongings and a small tent. She is to remain there till you return, which you promise will be sometime in the noon, and thereafter you will take her to the southern port. You are all haste as you dispatch her, your mind on the machinations which you hope will deter the reeve's wrath and absolve you, at the same time, of your uncle's shameful deed. But in the moment when you pause to take a breath, you recognize the absolute privacy in which you and Amelia find yourselves. A look passes between the two of you that makes the both of you flush. Amelia draws closer. In her eyes you can see all that she would wish to say, her gratitude not only for delivering her from this fate but the readiness with which you accepted its risk. In that moment she cannot remember the boy who engaged her once in innocent games, but only, as her hand brushes against your beard and as she stands tip-toe and cranes her neck and asks you to please come with her, as a man grown.
You leave her quickly, before you lose yourself in the passions which, to you, come so rarely. There is no privacy beneath the gaze of God, and there are limits to how far one may aggrieve a father.
In the morning, the disappearance is discovered, both of your uncle and of the reeve's beloved daughter, and it is not difficult to force the two into a collusion. You need not even suggest your candidacy in the search, the reeve commands you to put all your talents toward the task. It seems he had already guessed what was in his daughter's mind and knows of her plans with her aunt. You are tasked to intercept her before she reaches the southern port and for your success are promised ownership of all four of your boats. It is likely the reeve would have given his whole fleet for the return of his only daughter, yet on the matter of the marriage with Lord Royce, he remains immovable. He loves his daughter as much as any father, but cannot cede his ambitions to her "childish passions".
You decide to:
>Continue as planned and bring Amelia to the southern port
>Betray your promise and return Amelia to the reeve for the boats
>See Amelia safely all the way to the continent
>Write-in
