This is the second part to a fictional story I began here. Feedback is appreciated in the comments.
Deme turned her mount back towards the jetty and kicked him into a trot. As they approached, the boat was alongside and the rower was hefting rope in the moonlight.
Well get off your horse and tie me alongside! yelled the boatman.
Deme stood her ground and did not dismount. Wearing a flimsy dress was not the best way to encounter someone who might want a fight. She wasn't about to give up the advantage of being on horseback.
Who are you?
I'm the bloody Light House Keeper and your that stuck up death knight who thinks she's too good to get married in our cathedral!
Aww come on lass, grab this rope and tie me up. Then come inside, you look half frozen.
Disarmed by the light house keeper's consideration and his knowledge of who she was, Deme dismounted with as much vigour and dignity as the silly dress would allow. Self-consciously pulling her cloak tighter round shoulders, she thought, Damn that bloody Jenwa for convincing me to go to the party in a dress.
Don't worry lass, there's nothing of yours I want. I've seen it all a'fore from them blue ones to the blood elves and I still say the dwarven lasses are the best there is.
Deme was gaping again. He was damn rude, but oddly perceptive and reassuring. The light house keeper chortled and clambered onto the jetty from the boat. Not an easy task Deme now realised, given his short stature.
I'm Derrid Oljind, he grinned holding out his hand.
I'm that stuck up death knight replied Deme, shaking his hand and grinning back. Rude, but reassuring, what wasn't to like?