“Lanval! Lanval! Are you out of bed? Your father will be waiting on you!” His mother called upstairs.
“I’m coming” the boy answered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He got out of bed, splashed water from the bowl on the dresser onto his face and pulled on his tunic and boots.
“Good morning, mother.”
“And if you’d have stayed up there much longer it will be the afternoon!”
Lanval sat down at the table, broke off a hunk of rye bread and filled his beaker with milk.
“You were late coming home last night, weren’t you?”
“Was I? I lost track of time, it was such a beautiful evening. We walked and talked – there’s one place on the walls above the port where we watch the ocean stretching for miles, it’s just wonderful –
“You’re a real dreamer, Lanval.”
“What’s wrong with that? We –
‘We?” Mot
