"Take charge of this deranged Floozy," (Patreon)

I thought at Estvan via Elfmind as I stepped forward to greet the newcomers.

"Gentlemen!" I exclaimed suavely.  "Welcome to this outpost of Albric Tor.  I trust you've made your way here to enter the service of the great Lord Randall?"

"Sure," the lowfolk with the tricorn hat replied.  "We were really just following Rowan to see where she went.  We got a chuckle when the gold turned into twigs and leaves, yeah I admit it, but it wasn't worth running off in a huff like that!  We were actually pretty impressed and figured there must be a genuine elf involved, or something like one.  So where is he?"

"Look no further!" I declared.

"You are just the cutest thing," the other lowfolk interrupted.  "Do you mind if I braid your hair while you declaim?"

"So is that fox over there your father or something?" the one in the tricorn hat asked.  "You said 'Lord Ramble,' right?  He looks like the rambling type.  Do we address him directly or, um, do we have to speak to him through you?"

"He's not -" I started to say.

"You have the silkiest, snowy white tresses," the other one murmured admiringly.  "What conditioner do you use?  After I've braided it all, I get a wish, right?  I don't want much, just my own cozy little salon with three chairs .. and sinks."

"I'm not a little girl," I began.

"Shush now, missy," the one in the tricorn hat murmured at me.  "Sure, you'll be all grown up in no time, but here now .. I brought you a treat.  Now be a good girl and stay quiet while the grownups are talking."

He handed me a tumbler full of warm milk (with just a few pine needles floating in it from being carried through the forest) and a large stale cookie.

"I'm not a little girl," I grumbled.  But I was hungry, so I took the proffered treat and began sullenly to nibble on the cookie.

"Are you Lord Ramble?" Tricorn Hat asked Estvan.  "Forgive my impertinence if I'm not supposed to speak to you."

"Tish, quite all roight lad," Estvan chuckled, then pointed at me.  "But sure an' that's the elf ye seek."

"Her?  Seriously?" the lowfolk asked with visible skepticism.  "What kind of father drags his innocent young daughter into such a shady business as the hiring of private mercenaries?  Out in the middle of a tulgey wood, no less?"

"GET YER MITTS OFF OF MY FLOWING TRESSES!" I screeched.  "I keep telling you I'M NOT A LITTLE GIRL!  I am the one known as Lord Randall!  Now did you come out here to enter my service, or did you come to braid hair and make jokes?"

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