This little fellow is called a silver spotted skipper. I took this photo just a couple of hours before posting.
When the prime minister told Princess Pirouette that the old King meant to marry again, she had to press her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Who is to be the lucky bride, or has she been chosen yet?” She asked.
“His Majesty means to marry my niece, Lady Greenmeadow.”
Any mirth that Pirouette may have felt was squelched by this revelation. How could that old man even think of marriage? She thought to herself. Given his constant coughing fits, there probably wasn’t one healthy bronchiole in either of his lungs.
“I can’t think of a more unsuitable candidate for Queen of this realm,” said the Princess tersely.
“But Your Highness!” Said the prime minister. “You are to be her maid of honor!”
When Princess Pirouette reached the home of GarGar, she found his household in an uproar. Some wept openly, while others simply bowed their heads, wringing their wrists. Abandoning all pretense of bravery, she began to weep also. “Where is my love?” She asked and she petitioned God to send her love back to her. Through her tears, she commanded his servants to put a candle in every window and to keep them burning until le comte des Deux Chats should return.
For a day and a half, Princess Pirouette had wept. On the second day after hearing the news, she dried her eyes and bid her ladies to dress her in black. Next she told her master of the horse to make ready a steed that would carry her to GarGar’s house. When her footman helped her into the saddle, it took all of her composure not to begin crying again. The last time anyone had touched her so intimately, it had been GarGar. The tactile memory was hard to bear, but instead of crying, she only made a guttural sound, as though she were choking.
“Are you alright, my lady?” Asked one of her servants. All she could do in reply was shake her head.
“Giddy up,” she said as she spurred her horse. Off she rode, with her ladies and guards in tow.