The Frog

Sorin's Arrival

      A whole week had passed since Ambrose visited King Alamon and the people of Wortellemn. Ambrose had a warm welcome of arranged messages and princely responsibilities and... what was the other one? He could have sworn he remembered.

     The sound of horse hooves reminded him. Sorin. "Stupid. Fucking. Sorin." Ambrose thought to himself, his heels digging into the floor below him as he began to pace around his room.

     "I was having such a good morning..." Ambrose groaned, regressing back to when he woke up, a small drop of snow gracing his sunrise, sending a chill into his room that caressed him, instead of biting him. When he looked in the mirror to see the damage sleep had done on his hair, frost had found its way locked into his eyelashes. The contrast against his dark auburn hair made him smile. It made him think of a book he'd been reading of a wintery forest and a magical fox finding its way through the ups and downs of his forest with all of its predators. He felt as though the fox had come to life and was staring at him right in the mirror.

     A bright red bird flew to his windowsill and somehow, he still heard the croak of a frog. Ambrose opened his door and there was Damien's frog, as if it were waiting for him. He sighed and looked towards the red bird again before picking up the frigid frog and bringing it inside.

      "I appreciate the visit, friend," Ambrose approached the window and the bird. "But it is far too cold for the frog and I." With that, he closed his window, the little red bird flying away.

      "How have you survived this far?" Ambrose sighed, lifting the frog to look at him. He thought it would be far too cold for a frog but maybe he was wrong. The frog wiggled until Ambrose let him down and that was the end of Ambrose's wonderful morning before it was cut short by the intrusive thought of Sorin.

     Perhaps he could hide up here, maybe if he was lucky, everyone would be more interested in Sorin's arrival than Ambrose's presence. Maybe they'd be more interested in his deep brown eyes, his dark curly hair, strong hands and... Ambrose was starting to wander. He rolled his eyes, sighing loudly.

     "I cannot allow him to get into my head." Ambrose grounded himself again, taking a breath.

     A loud knock shocked Ambrose out of his thoughts.

     "Come in." Ambrose growled, sure someone was here to take him down to help bring in Sorin's bags. Ambrose couldn't bear another reminder that Sorin was here with his stupid deep voice and long eyelashes and-

     The door opened and in came Ambrose's mother.

     "Ambrose, honey, would you come down and help Sorin?"

     And there it was. Ambrose would have to go down and see Sorin so early in the morning. What a pity.

     "I'll be right down, mother." Ambrose picked at his hair, not wanting a single hair out of place. He wanted Sorin to see he wasn't someone to pick on. He wanted to be taken seriously, he wanted to look smart. Maybe if he looked smarter, Sorin wouldn't make him feel so dumb. It was no use, his hair needed to be washed again to take out the stubbornness of his bed-head. Ambrose loathed the thought of Sorin seeing him like this but he needed to listen to his mother. So, he made his way downstairs.

     "Ambrose!" Sorin greeted as if they were best of friends. "How good to see you again."

     "Yes, so good," Ambrose forced a smile, baring his teeth like an animal.

     "Well don't be a stranger my friend, come along. Help me with this bag."

     Ambrose tensed as he approached Sorin, grasping the handle with the taller man. Their hands brushed against each other as Ambrose tried to find a good grip, he felt a familiar warmth reaching his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Sorin felt a certain energy off of Ambrose, glancing at him with a smile.