Even if she had looked different, her voice would have given her away well enough even by the first syllable, never mind the familiar last name. So she was married, presumably, or had been. (Trystan acknowledged this in his head alongside the fact of her having a daughter, and did not think too much into why it might matter. It didn’t; it was irrelevant.)
He moved the sapling he had been about to plant away from the spot, propping it back where it had been resting to smile amusedly down at Marigold. “You have your fun, Marigold,” he assured the young girl, even less interested in disciplining other people’s children about asking permission or not than his own; instead, he brushed a smear of dirt casually off his thumb, aware out of the corner of his eye that Avery Davenport was looking at him.
“She’s sweet,” he remarked. “Is she a metamorphamagus too?” He wasn’t sure if she would be – he thought there was a chance it had been inherited, but even then, as far as he knew, that kind of magic was still rather rare. Besides that, he wasn’t sure if Avery Davenport recognised him: so at least that would give her a clue that he had met her.
He moved the sapling he had been about to plant away from the spot, propping it back where it had been resting to smile amusedly down at Marigold. “You have your fun, Marigold,” he assured the young girl, even less interested in disciplining other people’s children about asking permission or not than his own; instead, he brushed a smear of dirt casually off his thumb, aware out of the corner of his eye that Avery Davenport was looking at him.
“She’s sweet,” he remarked. “Is she a metamorphamagus too?” He wasn’t sure if she would be – he thought there was a chance it had been inherited, but even then, as far as he knew, that kind of magic was still rather rare. Besides that, he wasn’t sure if Avery Davenport recognised him: so at least that would give her a clue that he had met her.
