Leape

In which Penn looks in a mirror, but it's not a mirror, and they're flirting!?

9

Penn was quite pleased by the fact that he did not find himself smashed face-first into the ground. Lethia bounced on her toes, curly blonde hair fluffing up, as if triggered by excitement.

"Chapter two," she said with a grin, looking around at everything. Chapter two!? Penn thought with a panic. WHY ARE WE ONLY ON CHAPTER TWO, I'VE BEEN IN HERE FOR LIKE A WEEK!?

The semi-soothing voice of the twelve-year-old narrator filled Penn's mind. 'Lax, bro. Penn blinked.

I thought we were in Medievalland? A tsk came from the narrator, and Penn could feel her mentally rolling her eyes.

Nope. Well, yes, but actually no. You're in Medievalland, I'm in your head. Now focus. They seemed to be at the outskirts of a medieval town, the white-washed walls of the buildings stretching up two or three stories, the expanses of white intermittently broken up by black beams of wood cutting across them. The thatched roofs reached up to the cerulean sky, where an outcropping of clouds hung dramatically over the small city. Plains stretched out beyond the large town, clusters of wanna-be forests dotting the large expanse of grass. Fields lined the long, dirt path that wound throughout the bright green plains, their pale gold heads catching the sun perfectly to turn them gold.

Lethia brushed off her skirt—which had changed between stories—and stalked forward through the streets. They were bustling with activity, with random people, horses, and varying farm animals traveling along the cobbled roads. Vendors hawked their goods, children played games in the streets, and animals brayed loudly, all combining into an orchestra of chaotic cacophony.

Penn hadn't walked ten minutes before Lethia once more grabbed his arm—Not again, he thought with despair—and with ninja-like stealth dove behind a few barrels.

"Wha—" he began before his moody companion clasped her hand over his mouth, hissing almost silently about guards.

Penn peeked up from where he had been thrown in the mud behind the barrels to catch a glimpse of said guards. The Narrator's voice filled his mind.

LANCELOT!!!!1!1!1!11! she cried in his brain, the word followed by about a thousand exclamation marks following it. With a final squeak of excitement, the Narrator quieted down, an exhilarated buzz filling his mind as he watched the two guards, eyes darting from one to the other.

He realized with a start that they weren't merely guards—they were knights, each half-armored, seemingly looking for something.

There were two of them, one wearing a light green tunic with dark brown leggings, a hose Penn's mind helpfully informed him—or was it the Narrator?—, a sword in his scabbard, carrying a deep blue shield with a silvery boar on it in his left hand. His arctic blue eyes searched over the streets, hawkish in nature, and he rubbed his stubble-covered chin as if in deep thought.

The other, who was slightly shorter, wore a pale red tunic with a similar hose to his friend's, but carried a different shield. The Narrator in Penn's mind gave another excited squeal, and Penn could imagine her jumping up and down in her excitement. The second knight's shield was a dark blue as well, although its tone was cooler, with a golden spotted cat on it. Its claws reached up into the air as if to snatch a bird down, a fierce and determined look about it that Penn could imagine on the auburn-haired knight when in the midst of battle.

The duo's gazes flitted about, going from house to house, from barrel to barrel, from— "You there! Show yourself!" the red-tuniced one called, dramatically looking to the barrels from which Penn and Lethia peeked out from behind. His voice had a distinct French accent, however faint, a juxtaposition ot Lethia's British one. It made him all the more intimidating. With a sinking feeling, Penn gave a start as beside him, Lethia, who had somehow changed clothes, once again, and wore a white-and-green dress outfit, stood sheepishly up.