Water to the Parched [Vanator]

[Sybel]

Water to the Parched, 15th Day of Spring, 507 AV


Crowds bustled in and out of the raucous tent; men and women alike carrying frothing pints filled to the brim with stout, amber brew. Laughter punctuated each passing moment, different groups clustered around small wooden tables and benches. On such busy evenings, Sybel couldn’t help but feel alive. It was the type of night that could get you into an arm-wrestling match with a healer from the Opal Clan, or better still, in a fistfight. Even the most timid Drykas could not resist the siren call of delicious ale, and this particular Benshira was inclined to agree. Her job as a barmaid had been an apt choice the more she reflected on it. Because of it, the years seemed to pass with alarming speed.

Her lithe form weaved in between the crowds, balancing a large carafe and several sloshing tankards on a tray, held high about the crowd. Men razzed and jested with her as she passed by, and she served the insults back in kind, adding to the cacophonous laughter that echoed through the Trough. That night she might even end by balancing the tray on her head, or singing the customary drinking songs atop the counter. It just depended on how frightfully active the place decided to be. If it became too packed, she wouldn’t have an opportunity to get drunk herself… And that was never any fun.

For the evenings she’d work, Sybel donned the more traditional Drykas garb. It helped her blend in despite her wild, dark locks and pastel blue eyes. Amongst the tangle of her curls tiny braids wove alongside, emphasized by azure glass beads. On those occasions she conceded to wear a dress even, despite her usual distaste for women’s clothing. The unfortunate fact was, that looking more like a female earned her better tips, and so she made the grudging exception. At least she looked nice. There was always that.

It was hard work to walk without tripping given such little room. She managed alright at first, but after an hour so of the constant movement Sybel decided to have a pint to ease her fraying nerves. “Aye, lass!” A boisterous man roared, dressed in blue. “C’mere and have yer drink with us!” The others around him voiced their support, putting her squarely in the spotlight. Anxiously, she cleared her throat. “And a round on me!” He added, to the whooping cheers of his clanmates. That left no room for debate. She was after all, still on the clock. So much for a quick break. Quickly drafting a ring of seven other glasses, she finally made her way over, drink in hand.

It had been some time since her last humiliating experience. The Gods had a way of spacing these things out, so that despite months of good fortune, your ill luck came at just the right – or wrong, rather – moment. As she walked, she found herself sure-footed enough. That was, until she set the tray down before the merry group. Someone from the table behind her shoved their seat out too far in some wild declaration, and the bench forced her already leaning form forward, causing her to lose equilibrium. Slow motion took over in the final second, as with horror she watched her drink fly into the face of a perfect stranger.

The following second, she was facedown on the table. The room became deathly silent, the picture of awe. Her cheeks flamed, and some small timid voice in her mind wished for the ground to swallow her up. It would be nice to just stay there and die, so she wouldn’t have to peel her face from the rugged wooden surface. But unfortunately time marched on, and shamefaced she looked up. How wonderful, she lamented in silence. It was the Ankal’s son, some distant creature of perfection she’d only before glimpsed in passing.

It had been years since the thought crossed her mind. But there it was. ’I hate my life.’

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized in a small voice. That had been her allotted shift drink, too. Things got better and better… He was absolutely waterlogged in beer. “Can I get you a towel?” Involuntarily, she bit her bottom lip. The noise seemed to restart in the background. Perhaps the lingering silence had just been her imagination. But no matter how she tried, Sybel could not seem to stifle her dry sense of humor. “At least you won’t have to wash your hair. Not with the brew we serve around here, anyway.”

The crowd’s gleeful response meant everything was alright again… Well, sort of.

[Vanator]

Syna's last light had bathed the colorful pavilions of Endrykas with an orangey glow as Vanator guided Backlash through the camps, two Denusk hunting dogs in tow. The Drykas had embarked on yet another foray alone into the grass, a common practice since Tamar's death. His mother and father had tolerated his wanderings for the past three Springs, yet their impatience festered as the heir continued to mourn his wife and eschew any attempt they made to arrange a marriage for him. Consorts he didn't seem to lack, but prospects for marriage were not forthcoming.

Almost immediately after arriving at the Denusk pavilion, Vanator's younger cousins Thaladon and Gregan invited him to accompany them for a drink at the Trough. Weary from a long ride, it was with some reluctance that Vanator agreed, convinced not only by the sound of a pint, but by a certain feature of the tent tavern that often garnered his attention.

Less than a bell later, Vanator found himself at a table surrounded by his cousins and their boisterous friends. He himself did not partake in their rowdy cat calls and jests, content to simply drink his ale and smile in amusement at the others as they slowly became drunk. The Denusk's attention was often drawn to a particular barmaid, the same one who always drew his attention, the only one he really ever remembered. She was not Drykas, he had surmised some time ago, her eyes too blue and her skin never lost its rich golden hue. She didn't speak Pavi, but spoke in Common with an accent that was not like the northerners. He imagined she was one of the desert people, not the one's with all the arms though. Her attitude, however, was as Drykas as any clanswoman, quick with comebacks and unflapped by even the most insistent arses among the patrons.

Vanator cuffed his cousin in the head for teasing the girl, only to muss his hair and smile when Gregan offered to buy another round. The blue-eyed barmaid arrived in short order with a tray of drinks. Vanator's gaze may have lingered too long admiring her features, for he was completely surprised as she jolted forward, not of her own will, and the frothy contents of her glass were ejected, splashing across Vanator's face as if aimed. Ale ran from his chin onto is lap, dark spots expanding on his tan shirt, strands of beer-soaked hair clinging to his face. Once he wiped the liquid from his eyes, flicking it to the floor, Vanator's face darkened into a stern visage of displeasure, his jaw clenched, his hands clutching the edge of the table.

Then the poor girl lifted her head. bright blue eyes, large and apologetic, met his dark gaze, the flecks of gold in his irises seeming to flare. She apologized, and Vanator simply shook his head, standing and wiping his face with the sleeves of his shirt. Then the dark-haired girl recovered, delivering her jibe without refrain. The Denusk's temper was quick to flare, but so was his good humor. Vanator's gaze narrowed, then, he burst into laughter, along with his fellows.

"Indeed, it seems you have actually done me a favor." Vanator offered her a disarming smile as he tried to pull free the wet hair stuck to his face. Its not exactly how he would have chosen to meet her, but the incident produced the desired result. "I am Vanator. Looks like I am wearing your drink, may I repay your kind hair treatment by buying you another?"

[Sybel]

Their eyes locked and she was lost for a moment, lost in the intensity of his bourbon-colored gaze. It almost seemed like she’d angered him, his knuckles whitening at the table’s edge. But to her surprise he laughed at the jibe, seeming to take the whole ordeal in stride. "Indeed, it seems you have actually done me a favor." He replied, peeling water-darkened hair from his face. "I am Vanator. Looks like I am wearing your drink, may I repay your kind hair treatment by buying you another?" His introduction was caressed by a gentle smile. She laughed along, even. But after a short silence she felt suddenly vulnerable, completely uncertain how to proceed. Sybel’s heart gave a little lurch against her ribs at the prolonged eye contact. Before long, the moment would become awkward. Her mind groped for an appropriate response.

“I’m Sybel,” she answered, desperate for the second half to that sentence. “I… I’d love to.” Was she really to be overcome by this unknown entity? The effect he had on her was unprecedented. Trying to regain her composure, she tapped her endless well of sarcasm. “I must admit however, its done wonders for your complexion.” Her tone was kind. “You look amazing!” She exclaimed, hands itching to reach out toward him. But instead she kept her impulses in check. They could only serve to embarrass her further. Gesturing for him to follow, she strode back over to the bar.

When she reached the other side of the room, the Benshira slid behind the counter and bent beneath his line of sight. After a few moments she emerged with a downy piece of cloth, usually reserved for polishing the smooth wooden surface. “Here.” She placed it neatly in front of him, turning to the ale keg. “I truly am sorry,” she continued earnestly, drawing another drink. “I’d be happy to pay for my own pint.” Once it was set to near overflow, she placed it alongside the cloth. “You see, now I’ve completed my maniacal plan to get you alone.”

The brazen act was just that – an act. Sybel was used to putting on a brave front, but the reality was she was struggling to avoid breathing heavily. It was all she had to smile and maintain a flippant exterior. It borderline irritated her, the way she was suddenly behaving. There was only one other person who had ever affected her in that way. With a sour note she realize he too, had those chestnut eyes. It shot a little pin through her heart.

[Vanator]

The pregnant pause did not phase Vanator. He had never been afforded a good, long look at the woman, and her prolonged hesitation gave him the opportunity to appreciate what he had only been able to glimpse as she went to and fro around the tavern. Even flushed with embarrassment, she bore an almost exotic appeal, and the Drykas kept hard to his ale-soaked smile, concealing a flutter in his stomach as he held her crystalline blue gaze. Though Van noted little passage of time, the woman's sudden recovery drew him from his indulgence. Sybel. He had her name.

“I must admit however, its done wonders for your complexion...You look amazing!”

Vanator laughed, impressed by her sharp humor and enamored by her smooth, alien accent. "Why thank you, I suppose I should take a cask home. Or maybe I could just make a daily stop here, and you can apply it yourself, since your aim is so keen." He wanted to respond, to tell Sybel that she was, in fact, the one that looked amazing. But such a reply would sound campy, so Van held his complement in reserve, ready for the moment when its sincerity could be appreciated.

Shooting a warning glare over his shoulder, Vanator gave his cousins the grassland sign to beware, indicating any taunts aimed at him would be met with violent retribution. Then the Drykas followed Sybel across the room to the bar, allowing himself to appreciate her from that angle as well. Soon, they found themselves at a section of the bar that could be considered isolated, as much as could be expected in the crowded Trough. Vanator took up the proffered towel with a 'thank you' and wiped the residue of brew from his face and neck.

“I truly am sorry...I’d be happy to pay for my own pint...you see, now I’ve completed my maniacal plan to get you alone.”

Sybel's sardonic humor again compelled Vanator to chuckle, and he shook his head. "Ah...your plan? How do you know that this was not, in fact, my plan all along? The jerk who bumped into you could have been my co-conspirator in a ploy to bring us together. I admit that suffering the humiliation of an ale-bath has been well worth it, seeing the current situation." The Drykas' grin took a wry twist as he again met her bright gaze. "And I insist on buying you that drink."

After another extended glance, Vanator rent his eyes from Sybel's alluring gaze, scanning the room for one of the Fouroat brothers, hoping that the proprietors of the tavern, and his old friends, would allow him to steal from them some of Sybel's time. His own heart defied him as it thrummed steadily in the girl's presence, the intensity of its rhythm seemingly affected by her proximity. The Denusk wanted the conversation to continue. He wanted to get to know her, but for the moment, the subject matter was irrelevant. They could discuss the grooming practices of yowlwings for all he cared, as long as Bel would linger with him and he could steal glances at her.

"Why don't you speak Pavi, you know you could understand the complements your patrons shower upon you if you did." His eyebrows raised teasingly as he took a drink from her offered mug.

[Sybel]

It seemed she’d hit the mark, as he responded in turn. “Why thank you, I suppose I should take a cask home,” he fired back comically. “Or maybe I could just make a daily stop here, and you can apply it yourself, since your aim is so keen." She chuckled at that, quickly becoming engrossed. As they interacted, the foreign woman’s smile stayed fixed squarely between her cheeks. Body language betrayed her, involuntarily leaning in. Sensing her moment, as he looked over his shoulder she seized the opportunity to admire him in earnest. Lazily, her stare ran over the length of his body, lingering at the corded muscle at his arms. But as his head whipped back, she’d already walked off.

It heartened her to see him take the towel. Despite their obvious flirtation, Sybel still felt fresh guilt over the incident. It may not have necessarily been her fault, but being drenched in anything abruptly never improved one's day. Therefore, his acceptance of her symbolic 'olive branch' eased the whole thing over in her mind, and she was able to continue the conversation without preoccupation. "Ah...your plan?” Vanator wore a wry expression. “How do you know that this was not, in fact, my plan all along? The jerk who bumped into you could have been my co-conspirator in a ploy to bring us together. I admit that suffering the humiliation of an ale-bath has been well worth it, seeing the current situation." The young woman gave him an arch look. “Is that so? You seem to have outwitted me again.” It was true – this young Drykas had no shortage of snappy rhetoric. "And I insist on buying you that drink."

Not one to pass up an opportunity, she immediately grinned. “Well if you insist.” Sybel replied almost too quickly, taking a long drag from the pint she’d placed between them. "Why don't you speak Pavi, you know you could understand the complements your patrons shower upon you if you did." His inquiry caused the Benshira to shake her head in feigned exasperation. “Oh no. You see if I could understand them, there’d be an abundance of broken noses around here.” The sentences were separated by a little laugh. “Violence is bad for business, so I simply never bothered to learn.” But unable to resist, she cocked an eyebrow. “Of course, if you’d be my teacher… I’d be happy to learn.” She raised her glass. “Just start with the compliments first.”

It was nearly too fun how he distracted her. At first she’d berated herself for becoming so engaged, but it seemed that Vanator was not just a pretty face. He had a brain, which was more than she could say many of his ilk. The conversation alone was worth taking a break for, especially considering she’d just flung beer at him. His patience did him quite a bit of credit. Sybel shifted her weight to one side, lips still configured in the eternal grin. “I think we have an audience,” she commented meekly, inclining her head toward the fixed stares of his countrymen. “I take it you’re of the Sapphire clan?”

OOCSorry if it seems rushed. It's hard to post at work!

[Vanator]

Vanator leaned his elbows on the bar, a posture that also brought him comfortably leaning further across the slab of wood, closing the distance between the sultry foreigner and himself. When she dragged a swallow from the mug of ale between them, he smiled, pleased that they were already sharing something. Her reply to his comment about speaking Pavi was on par with the clever quips Vanator was beginning to expect from the blue-eyed woman, and he laughed out loud at her response.

"Of course, if you’d be my teacher… I’d be happy to learn. Just start with the compliments first.”

A wide grin crossed his face, which Vanator attempted to keep from getting silly. With a mock sincerity painted on his features, he leaned even closer to Sybel's gorgeous golden face. "Your brilliant eyes could illuminate the darkest heart, your flesh is likened unto a burnished bronzed goblet from which a poor man longs to drink, and the view of you from behind has the power to make a dead man live again." Van uttered his complement in smooth Pavi. "Someday...I will tell you what that means!"

Sybel's attention was distracted for a moment, and with a tinge of dismay, the Drykas saw her look past him, over his shoulder. “I think we have an audience, I take it you’re of the Sapphire clan?” Van noted the slight nod of her head, and he too turned to look over his shoulder. His cousins and their friends raised their mugs in salute, hollering a few choice encouragements Vanator prayed Sybel could not understand.

He nodded to them with an insincere smile which dropped into a warning glare. The Denusk turned his back to them, taking a quick swallow of the ale and giving Sybel a lopsided grin. "Yes, and I am Denusk. Well, myself and the two knuckleheads that were next to me. At the moment I don't claim any of them."

Turning his attention again fully and happily to Sybel, Vanator chose not to dwell on whatever pathetic reason he could conjure up to explain why, after all this time, he had not even spoken to her. Already, her beauty and humor marked the clever girl above and beyond the normal fare of Endrykas. The woman possessed an essence of the exotic too, contributing to the intrigue as well.

"And what poor lot of people would be mourning your defection to Endrykas?" His eyes found themselves transfixed again on the clarity of her blue eyes, attentive to every flinch of her arched brows.

[Sybel]

At his sudden approach, her azure eyes smoldered. Their proximity was very intimate, which only served to entice her further. Subtly, she inhaled through her nose, catching a wisp of his scent. It was something rich; a woody smell. Her breath caught somewhere along her windpipe. Their smiles seemed to mirror one anothers, nearly silly with joy. As he began to speak, a stream of alien and unknown phrases rolled off his parted lips. The intensity of his stare froze and overcame her. She caught the words “eyes,” and “drink” having picked up a bit of the language here and there… But the rest she could potentially infer by his expression. "Someday...I will tell you what that means!" His promise held a deep and varied meaning, one which she liked the sound of. “I’d like that,” she replied, eyes soft.

The act of him looking away seemed to momentarily free her, and she exhaled with relief. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she’d held her breath through the entirety of his “compliment.” He must be chastising his relatives, she thought with some amusement. Family and friends, especially if they were Drykas, could be very embarrassing. By their mute expression she figured her guess was correct, and her companion’s attention promptly returned. He took a drink of the ale they shared, and her heart took another unsteady lurch. "Yes, and I am Denusk. Well, myself and the two knuckleheads that were next to me. At the moment I don't claim any of them." She giggled happily. “Well, it does seem family has a special way of exacerbating things.” Her brow cocked with the statement.

It was difficult to say, but there was something very familiar about him. With startling accuracy, her memory produced the answer… A phantom from the past. Yes, her relationship with Kavala! She’d both seen and heard about this man time and again, but until that point in the conversation she hadn’t connected the two identities. He was her friend’s older brother. The information urged to be said but Sybel shoved the impulse into the pits of her brain. Instead, she reflected on her incredible fortune that he even spoke to her. He was an Ankal’s son, and she was just some lowly desert-dwelling nomad, with enough ambition to get herself killed. Even if he did take a liking to her, she’d be what – a third wife? If her luck held true?

That saddened her considerably, but she wouldn’t let it show. Her face became a tad more tender, vulnerable. Life was about enjoying the moment, after all. She was used to the expectations, the demand for her to change. No man had ever given her the freedom to just be what she was. It was very likely that no man ever would. Hael certainly didn’t. "And what poor lot of people would be mourning your defection to Endrykas?" His rumbling baritone snapped her back to reality. Trying to maintain light spirits, her smile brightened. “Yahebah. But don’t worry – they certainly don’t miss me. I hitchhiked my way to Endrykas from Riverfall… And here I am.”

The Benshira floridly gestured to her person.

“Bel!” A voice called irately. She froze, then whirled toward her hovering, radish-faced associate. The bartender glowered at her. “Your break has gone too long. Get back to work.” Avoiding his clearly mounting rage, she shot Van an apologetic grin. “I get off in a bell or so, if you’re interested. If not, I’d understand.” The invitation sent her stomach quivering. Why was this situation so pointedly different? The nervousness… It was so seemingly misplaced. Normally she wouldn’t react so girlishly. “Keep the drink.” She winked at him. “Now.” The man menaced.

[Vanator]

The girl concealed well in her features whatever thought had suddenly dampened her lively spirit. But Vanator did not miss the subtle shift in Sybel's countenance upon the revelation of his pavilion. The playful twinkle in the woman's eyes dimmed, the beaming grin became a muted smile. the Ankal had taught his son to gauge a person by the expression they wore, as much as by the words they spoke. Vanator just prayed it was not something he had said. Maybe she had heard of 'The Curse', the plague of a rumor that spread after both his father's Konti wife and Vanator's own bride were killed. Some fools even blamed his Konti half-sisters for bringing a curse upon the family. It was zibri shyke and Van knew it, but he could not convince Kavala before she left for Mura, nor Akela before she took her sword and went to conquer the world.

Vanator, having to brush aside his own sober musings, allowed the captivating proximity of Sybel to wash away his disconcerting thoughts. Her visage brightened again, relighting the glow in his own, as she revealed her heritage....Benshiran. Crystalline eyes, dark hair and the bronze-hued skin certainly complied with that race. Van had heard that the women of the desert were dancers. He wondered if Sybel danced. The image it conjured only broadened his persistent smile. "Their loss...our gain." He quipped.

“Bel!”

The rudely-toned bartender received a piercing glare from the interrupted Denusk, but Vanator kept his tongue, unwilling to make trouble for Sybel. Van turned back to the Benshiran, his grin returning like the sun from behind a dark cloud. “I get off in a bell or so, if you’re interested. If not, I’d understand. Keep the drink.”

Van wrapped his hand around the mug and stood up from the stool. "See you in a bell...Bel." The Drykas' grin took a wry curl at his campy joke. Dark, gold-flecked eyes fixed again on the barmaid's desert-blue gaze, his stomach flopping inside him at the prospect of seeing her outside of the busy tavern. Turning then to the insistent barkeep, Vanator's glowering glance returned, and he flashed the man the grassland hand sign to calm down.

Returning to his table, Vanator took a seat, this time accepting the razing of his fellow clansmen with a content smile. After all, none of them were going to meet a beautiful desert woman in a bell. The time crawled by, and Vanator occupied himself by nursing the ale he had shared with Sybel as if it were a rare nectar, his eyes darting frequently to watch her as she bustled about serving patrons. Finally, Van saw her return her tray to the bar, her hands deftly working to untie the apron draped around her waist. He downed the remainder of the ale, setting the empty mug on the table and standing to his feet.

"Well, its been nice boys, but I have somewhere I have to be." Vanator's benediction consisted of nothing more than that, and he strode through the crowded pavilion until he emerged outside. Sucking in a deep breath of fresh evening air, the Drykas stood at the edge of the orangey light that spilled out of the Trough into the surrounding night, his eyes actively seeking the appearance of the off-duty Sybel.

[Sybel]

"Their loss...our gain." He said intently. Before her boss came and drove her off, there was a moment of hang time between them. Sybel suddenly found herself lost in the iris of his eye, admiring the craftsmanship of its darkened petals. There were these amber flecks that came to life in the ambient flames smoldering in their sconces. His stare, it drew her in like a helpless insect, hopelessly magnetized. Therefore it only served to anger her further when she was torn away. If only she could find some time where he’d let her study him. Her retreating gaze lingered on his sculpted jawline. Some men were made, she mused. Others created. It was obvious that Vanator was the latter.

"See you in a bell...Bel."

Of course, it was a doubtful assumption that he’d wait around. As she had grown and matured, Sybel came to realize that feelings didn’t function in a reflective sort of way. If you felt an animal attraction toward someone there was still no guarantee it’d was a shared experience. Men had woo-ed her before. In fact, when she wore her hide pants it was to the appreciative stares of many. Her curving hips stood to remind them all she was a suitable woman. But of course, it didn’t get them very far. The Drykas objective was to keep their lines in tact, and therefore takers were part of the norm. Sybel understood this. It never got them far, but they’d tried. Perhaps Van was just in the market for a more fertile ‘plot of land.’

When her shift finally ended, she slipped off the ale-soaked apron she’d been wearing and swept out the back, eager to put distance between her and the Trough. Much to her surprise, as she rounded the corner… Well, there he was. His eyes were clearly scanning the crowds, searching. In that moment, she had a decision to make. Would she protect herself? Flit off into the vast night like a tranquil ghost? Or give it a chance? For a single moment indecision waged war within her heart. Then something clicked in her brain; a single thought spoke with startling clarity above all others. Yes. There was something so compelling, that whenever presented with the opportunity… Sybel realized that she couldn’t – wouldn’t say no. He already had his fist around her heart.

“Looking for me?” Her voice floated on the wind. The Benshira stood with one hip thrust out, her narrow hand sitting snugly atop it while the other leaned against the canvas wall. For a beat or so she allowed him to drink in the sight before she stretched languidly and stalked toward him. “It’s good to be out in the open,” she mused. “I’m far more comfortable with the vast expanse of the sky over my head. Ceilings just don’t do it for me.”

When she was within a foot, she finally stopped. “You waited.” Her statement was almost a whisper. The young woman’s smile was nearly shy. “Where would you like to go?”

[Vanator]

“Looking for me?”

The accented voice was Sybel's, but her alto, lilting tone now seemed to be coated with a drop of honey. The mere sound of it inspired the Drykas man's heart to strengthen its rhythm against his chest as he turned to find the source of the alluring phrase. Eyes that had already adjusted to the moonlit night settled upon the woman leaning against the pavilion. No more clad in an apron, rushing around performing menial tasks, she now presented her form in a more...relaxed posture. Gone too, was the hasty gait she employed to keep up with patron orders, replaced by a stride that was every bit as graceful and confident as the prowl of a night lioness. The Benshiran drew near, again her almost husky voice lifting above the muted din of the nearby tavern.

“It’s good to be out in the open, I’m far more comfortable with the vast expanse of the sky over my head. Ceilings just don’t do it for me.”

Gods...the beauty of a Benshiran and the sentiment of a Drykas. Vanator realized his jaw had grown slack, so disarmed by the barmaid's sudden transformation. He would never, ever think of her as just a barmaid again. By the time the sultry desert girl halted, well within his personal space, the usually confident Vanator found himself almost unnerved by the excitement she ignited.

“You waited. Where would you like to go?”

Petch yes I waited... Vanator would have stood dripping wet in a blizzard wearing nothing but a blowing loincloth and a smile to see Sybel again. The Drykas man was no stranger to women, he had found many 'friends' whom offered him solace in their arms. But not a one had stirred such attraction, such intrigue, as the Benshiran woman who was so, so close to him at that moment. A powerful urge to simply close the short distance and press his lips to hers was almost more than the man could resist. But he did. There was a richness to Sybel that Vanator wanted to savor, so he suppressed the immediate desire for a taste.

"Lets get away from these lights, so we can enjoy the moonlight." Vanator adeptly recovered his composure, offering a smile. His strong hand boldly reached to take her slight one in his, gently guiding her into the dirt street and plotting out in his mind the shortest distance to the edge of the tent city. The acceleration of his pulse and the hypersensitivity of his nerves were a constant now in the presence of his feminine companion, compounded by the feel of her soft palm grasped in his own and the glances they shared, no more the furtive looks they exchanged in the tavern.

As they walked along, Vanator realized he reeked of ale and he could not help taking a good-humored jab at Sybel. "I hope you enjoy my fetching aroma, a friend of mine gave me a generous splash of a new cologne earlier this evening." The grin that accompanied his jibe, and the twinkle in his eye, were both playful.