Devon had dismounted, realizing that the Sorrel was in no greatened haste to leave garden banquet. From dwelling enshrouded in botanical delights, the unmistakable sound of door's open and closure drifted to Irishman's hearing. Sorrel's ears pricked forward, a brief pause in chewing took place then returned with former gusto. Carefully, Cork's Native Son peeked over garden wall and with recognition of whom it was commanding door's action, a sly smile painted young features.
It was but a glance achieved before ducking down again; nevertheless, it was enough to decipher that Sally's expression was set in some form of concentration. Easing around garden wall corner, Devon focused on the whisper of petticoat and tap of shoe sole on flagstone path. The footfall sounded as though on some determined errand; a tad faster than that of leisurely stroll to market. He unconsciously held his breath as flagstone echoes gave way to softer strike of soil muffle.
Hunkering down, he moved with practiced stealth into blockade of native flora; holding his breath as she moved past seemingly unawares. With determined navigation, former thief and fisherman's son moved parallel to her chosen path; using the foliage to advantage and thanking Eire Cess for gracing him. Just ahead, greenery broke to reveal pathway turn and he quickened pace to arrive at apex paces ahead of her.
Hanging back just enough in natural cover, he watched as she passed once again. His smile widened further at the game afoot and allowed her some lead before moving out; catching up quickly and stepping around to face her. Hat was doffed expediently to her startled poise; small bow offered as token of protocol and manners.
"Good mornin' to ye, gerl. A grand one to be out on'na stroll an' might I be sayin' tha' the beauty o' the morn is paled compared to yer own fine self..."
In the near distance, Sorrel nickered with hint of question.
