Closed The Bizarre Bazaar(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

The Bizarre Bazaar Summer 70th, 514av The Bizarre Bazaar The Bizar was everything Marrick could have imagined. The market had been taken over by the unfamiliar brass capped tents of the Benshira and they were filled with all manner of items, food, and more from lands far and wide. Syliras was an extremely bustling city already. But gods above, the Market had been taken over by the people of the Eyktol. Their massive tents billowed in the warm summer breeze, and the streets were flooded with shouts of exotic silks, spices, metals, and all other manner of trade. Someone was even selling animals. Amazing beasts both fierce and strange, even an odd looking rodent that had boney plates along its body sat with an extremely bored expression on its face. As he passed he watched carefully for Kelvics to be sure that everything the Benshira were trading was above board. Marrick was not too pre-occupied with this concern however, as he knew that all goods that made it into the city would have been inspected by the gate guards before it had been admitted into the city. The Kelvic ogled and smelled the sights and sounds. It was all stimulating to the point of madness. For most other Kelvics this may have been too much, but for the little Raven Kelvic he set about to the humble task of trying everything he could get his hands on. This had been a fortuitous day for Marrick. Ser whitevine, along with his squire and a detachment from Mithryn had come to Syliras to search the market for rare seeds and plants to add to the potential growth in the fields. Yet to the Raven haired Kelvic this task was only secondary. Certainly he knew a bit about food stuffs, but he wasn’t about to spend the day thrifting for seeds. “Spices ser knight?!” a lady seductively flourished with a familiar Eyktol accent from her booth enticing the curious Kelvic closer to see what she was so intent on showing him. The lady was dressed in simple yet elegant clothes and with an embellished gesture, presented a myriad of spices from simple salts to more exotic ground peppers from the lands beyond the desert. Marrick licked the tip of his pinky finger and dipped it furtively into the red powder. It felt like grains of sugar or sand on his finger, though as he brought it into his mouth he found it to be nothing similar. Marricks maw felt as if he held a droplet of pure Syna upon its glossy slick surface. The more he desperately swallowed, the worse it got. In between wheezing coughs and deep breaths, the Kelvic struggled with the plug of his water skin while the lady chortled mischievously. “Well it’s not for everyone.” She said with sultry amusement, followed with a pleasant grin. Marrick was fortunate to even catch a hazy blur of it through his tear filled eyes. Half of his water skin drained, the Raven haired Kelvic began to find his mouth felt normal again, with the added effect of numbed gums. “Aye, t’isnt. In a small dash, it’d loikely turn a potatoe mash inta pure paradoise lass.” Marrick said with a gravelly voice. He lifted the little pouch that the powder rested in and pulled its strings tight. “Oi’ll take it, n’ a bit o’ information from yeh, if yeh’d be so koind.” The woman smiled genuinely and nodded as Marrick placed the appropriate coin into her smooth palms. “Of what are they made?” He asked as he carefully placed the pouch into his slung pack. He met the woman’s dark lined eyes with a genuine smile, though his eyes kept distractedly shifting to the shiny loop of metal that pierced her nose. “This is a mixture of several different kinds of pepper. Picked by hand, dried, diced and ground down to flakes, then ground again into powder.” The woman presented a long hanging tangle of dried peppers hanging from length of rope in the back of her shop. Marricks eyes opened and his brow furrowed in excitement, such that the woman unbidden walked to the back of her stall and plucked a long string of them from their hook and brought it forward for his inspection. The Kelvic grinned broadly and touched the peppers, making the dried husks click and clack together in the pleasant tattoo that only food stuffs can make. “Would the seeds grow?” he asked as he gave the little dried string of peppers a shake, making the seeds rattle inside. “I’m not certain good sir. I’m afraid they would not grow here in this climate.” The look of doubt was etched into the woman’s strong features, and the worry that this might prevent her new patron from purchasing her wares filled her eyes. “Mithryn would still do well teh try n’ make a go of it. How many seeds per pepper would yeh say?” Marrick said as he lifted the long string of peppers up to test their weight. A look of intense concentration carved into his brow.

[Oriah]

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Oriah managed to gush, right before she barely stopped herself from bear hugging her patron.

"You have nothing to thank me for," Sera Mora shook her head. The warmth in her tone, however, hinted otherwise. "Just keep your wits about you, Little One. I know how dizzying seeing your kin for the first time in years can be. Remember what we've discussed today..."

"I know, Sera," the Benshira interjected eagerly. "Duties come first. Handsome, raven haired squires second."

The Chaktawe smirked at this. "I hadn't quite put it that way. But I trust you understand what I had meant."

Oriah agreed in every manner conceivable, until at last her patron reluctantly set her free and the lass spun on her heels to race toward the city. Toward familiar sights and smells...a chance to indulge her native tongue...delicacies she would not be able to find or purchase anywhere else in Sylira....

...Marrick.

The buoyant squire all but leaped onto Pie's saddled back. Well, more like clumsily but determinedly climbed, though it made no difference to her either way. She was bursting at the seams at the very thought of visiting the market on such an auspicious day. Home, she'd recited to herself so many days and nights in a row, I can finally have news of home!

But thoughts of home were not the only things capable of bringing her such excitement. Just picturing her fellow squire's look of surprise was enough to keep her sleepless for days. Which was why her patron had wisely chosen the very last moment to inform Oriah that she had a bit of news from one of the Whitevines. "One of their squires has chosen to attend the Bazaar today," Mora had slowly, agonizingly explained. The Benshira almost lost her mind waiting to hear just exactly which Whitevine's squire it was the enigmatic knight spoke of.

When she was finally privileged with the truth, it took every ounce of both Mora's patient tutelage and Oriah's self control for the squire not to go speeding off toward Syliras on foot.

"You should take Pie with you," the Chaktawe sagely advised, "because you need all the practice you can manage. And it will be faster, to allow you more time..."

Oriah never could quite pinpoint if her patron had ever directly suggested she might worry for her pining squire. So it had taken her a moment or two to realize Mora had spoken with a trace of matronly protectiveness she never expected to hear. That, and the fact that she had been subtly given permission to visit the bizar herself. Two acts of unnecessary kindness in one day. It almost undid her.

So it was with a full heart and ever-rising spirits that Oriah rode Pie through the Bronze Woods. She mostly knew her way by now, relying now and then on the river or some other landmarks as guides. The Benshira still wasn't proficient with riding and harbored deep seated unease around the beasts themselves. But at the very least she trusted Pie, who was as gentle a mare as a squire could befriend, and the forest was not as fraught with danger this time of the year. Sometimes she even felt peaceful atop the saddle with Pie's solid form below her.

The steady clop clop of the mare's steps eventually turned sharper as they neared the city gates proper. Recognizing Oriah and her mount on sight, the guards let her in without much of a fuss, stopping her only to ask how her patron was and to quickly check her meager belongings.

The squire's heart thumped madly throughout the process. Not because of cautionary routine, which became all but background noise at some point. No, nothing that trivial could push her nerves to such expectant heights. It was because now that she was so close to her destination, all of a sudden her thoughts coalesced toward one point of interest. And that point was likely wandering around the marketplace, none the wiser for his surprise visitor. For who was so anxiously awaiting to find him that very moment.

For Oriah, it required mammoth restraint and patience to first pass through the gates, then walk Pie through the crowded streets toward Windmount stables. Once her mare was properly taken care of and ensured a quiet, safe stall of her own for the remainder of the day, she took to the streets like a madwoman seeking salvation. The sounds of her boots hitting cobbled stones were drowned out amongst the sea of voices and bodies. Only a matter of chimes now before--

Oh, blessed Yahal, she would have gasped out loud, had the sight of the markets not completely stolen her breath.

Oriah closed her eyes as a wave of homesickness and nostalgia washed over her. She could smell dates and figs, hear the vibrant melodies of her people's language. Feel the very tang in the air that seemed exotic to most but only second nature to her. That it wasn't exactly like her tent meant nothing to the Benshira. It was close enough, and it was glorious.

"Young miss!" a voice called out from the throng of stalls and visitors. When it elicited no reaction, the voice made a second attempt, though this time in Shiber. "Young maiden with hair like damp earth of an oasis, would a taste of dates carried all the way from the Eyktol interest you?"

This got Oriah's attention. Not only because of the use of Shiber and over-the-top flattery that was merely the norm in their culture, but because the merchant had spoken of her hair. Everyone else outside of their heritage always spoke of their eyes, like they were rare gems or exotic crystals. But since every Benshira possessed such eyes it meant little to them. Only a true native would know how to properly compliment and address one of their own.

The squire looked up to meet the inquisitive gaze of her caller, whose eyes were as radiantly azure as her own. She never did figure out how it was that her people always knew her for what she was. Even with her lightened skin and strange garb after so many seasons spent away from home. They just simply knew.

"Yahal blesses me to be able to greet you," Oriah responded without hesitance, her delight showing clearly in her tawny features. "I have longed for a taste of home for more season than I can count. How much will it be to have such a taste?"

Upon hearing a similar yet not entirely identical tongue being spoken back to her, the merchant smiled that knowing smile all elders seemed to acquire. "For you, my love, nothing. It will be my treat for one of my own."

Oriah almost wept at such traditional and heartfelt generosity, but she kept her tears at bay and graciously accepted one of the dates. "You have my endless thanks," she bowed her head before taking a bite of the date. The Benshira found her eyes closing once more at the sheer joy of the dried fruit's customary flavor. It was everything she had hoped it to be, and more.

The merchant chuckled at Oriah's uninhibited reaction. "You are very welcome. It brings me joy to offer a taste of home for one as young as yourself. Tell me, how long has it been since you left your Tent?"

The younger Benshira ardently regaled all that she could of her journeys without burdening her listener with too much information. By the time she was done, she'd already eaten three more figs and felt too guilty not to buy some of her own. "Please, it's the least I can do for all your kindness," she insisted.

At last the merchant obliged, selling half a pound of sugary dates to the squire for a reasonable price. Oriah gave her warm farewells and promises to keep the older woman, whose named she discovered was Zaveeni, in her fondest memories. It felt wondrous to partake in customs even as mundane as goodbyes. She was half turned to leave the stall when a familiar face stopped her dead in her tracks. The merchant noticed, followed her customer's wide-eyed gaze, and grinned from ear to ear.

"He is a fine looking one," she teased, revealing that impossibly perceptive knowing that all elders seemed to possess. "If I were twenty seasons younger and unwed, I wouldn't mind seeking him out myself come packing time."

She knew traveling merchants were notoriously bold in nature. They had to be, given their trade. But this was far more blatant than anything Oriah had expected. She flushed from head to toe and looked helplessly at the older Benshira. "I--I don't--would never..." The squire heaved a sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

Zaveeni only tilted her head, still smiling. "Do not worry about that, young one. Go, shoo, before I have one of my daughters steal him for herself!"

Oriah nodded her profuse thanks once more, only to be met with a waving, sun-browned hand. Returning the gesture with a sheepish grin of her own, the younger Benshira squeezed through the crowd as fast as she could to reach the raven haired squire.

"Pardon me! Excuse me!" she called out, trying her best not to trod on anyone's toes. Until at last she had arrived at a completely different stall, this time facing the broad back of the unwitting magician to her feelings known as Marrick.

Oriah tapped the side of his right arm and held up the bag of dates.

[Marrick Corvis]

“It delights me to see one so interested in places apart from the known.” The woman said with a genuine smile. “There are about a dozen or more depending on the size and how long the pepper was growing.” Her common tongue held a warmth that Marrick had grown to love hearing in his ear and a soft sigh escaped his lips as he thought of the woman that made him so. It had been a while since he had seen Oriah. They had met in the wood some time ago, and their parting had given him an acute ache of her absence. “The warld is full o’ adventure, but naught all of it has teh be loife threatenin chases, and foightin.” The Kelvic said as he lifted the peppers to his nose and took a deep whiff of the peppers scent. “It’s the dance of spices in yer nose. It’s in the loine o’ the curve o’ yer lovers back or the wind that blows at yer face as yeh roide yer harse.” With a soft sigh, he lowered the peppers down and lovingly laid them on the cloth of the table top. “but ye’d know all about that bein sech a travelled person.” The Kelvic said with a smile. “Indeed my young friend. Life is full of spice, and not just the wares I sell here in my tent.” Her smile grew broad and knowing, while her eyes closed in genuine amusement at the little metaphor they had just shared. The crowd was so full of people and smells and movement, yet Marrick felt at ease. He had changed so much in the last few seasons since he had been freed. It had almost been a full year. It would be when winter came. He nodded to the hawker and laid out an additional handful of mizas to cover the cost of the dried goods, and was about to place them into his bag when he felt a strange sensation that someone was watching him, or talking about him. Instinct was a reliable source for a Kelvic, yet in this milling throng of people it was hard to determine the truth of it. Instinct was never wrong though, not for a Kelvic. The gentle tap Marrick felt against his taught bicep brought his attention away from the task at hand and he turned to aid whatever citizen or guest of Syliras needed aid, only to find something far better standing before him. Oriah Azari, as always, was a playful melody in an otherwise boring cadence of Marrick’s life of training and patrols. The sight of her bright smile was enough to shatter the Kelvic’s focus and set his heart to racing. The gleam in his eye, and the smile that grew to a painfully broad grin was not enough to quell the yearning in his heart. Not enough to express his feelings for the sweet Benshira before him. Unwilling to simply let it be, and boldness becoming a habit when it came to the Benshira, Marrick wrapped his arms about her in a squeeze both warm and long as the summer. It was as if his heart leapt in surprise and joy at the mere sight of the focus of his attentions, and a simple bear hug would not suffice. Marrick laughed from the bottom of his stomache and lifted Oriah clear of the street in a grasp so tight he worried for her breath. “Oriah! Yahal have mercy!” Marrick sputtered in as best an imitation of shiber he could manage. As he lowered her safely back to the ground, he buried his face in her wondrous mess of sandy hair and sighed deeply. “Yeh are the last theng Oi expected tehday, but far better than any soight, Oi could have wanted teh foind here!” The Kelvic’s bear hug had relaxed to a firm squeeze as he contemplated simply not letting go of the Benshira. Yet the image that floated through his mind of him carrying around Oriah as he carried out his duties was laughable, surely she had duties of her own to attend to. “Oi’ve missed yeh sweet lass.” He said as he attempted to burrow his face into her tawny locks of hair. With a sigh of regret he at last released her only to find that the lady who had moments before been smiling, now held a broad beaming grin, as did several others who watched the Kelvics public display of unstoppable affectionate anarchy.

[Oriah]

She felt the air wheeze out of her lungs as Marrick scooped her into the greatest bear hug ever to be exchanged between two squires of the Order. As her feet left the ground and grip loosened around the bag of dates, Oriah struggled to think of a better way to die.

Blistering sands. She couldn't.

So, the Benshira simply allowed the very life to be squeezed out of her body and basked in the uninhibited affection, spots dancing before her eyes as they closed in happy surrender. No regrets whatsoever.

Then Marrick unleashed another torrent of imitated Shiber, and Oriah couldn't help but burble with laughter in spite of her slow suffocation. Especially when he set her back on the ground and buried his face in her hair. The light stubble along his jaw tickled the tops of her ears, and the sudden rush of air made her feel light headed and delirious.

It felt so warm, so whole to be wrapped up in him like this. Not even the best of dreams could be this good.

"Mmmf..." was all Oriah managed to respond with as she sank blissfully into his embrace. It didn't help, of course, that she was completely muffled beneath layers of leather and solid flesh. The Benshira wondered distantly when her next chance to breathe would be.

All too soon, that chance came. And when it did it was not without a cost, as they both realized what a scene they had just made. Merchants and buyers alike were looking upon them, some with amusement and others a twinkle of approval. Neither helped with the flushed shade of pink that now invaded Oriah's features.

"I--I missed you too, Marrick," she stuttered, though saying his name only made her cheeks grow hotter.

Remembering the dates in her hand, Oriah offered some to her fellow squire once more, eager for something--anything--to distract her from both prying eyes and the enormous amount of affection Marrick had just displayed. "I bought some dates, would you like to try some? They came all the way from the Eyktol."

Oriah opened the pouch and shook a couple out onto her hand before extending it toward Marrick. She made the mistake of looking up as she did and, seeing the brilliance of his handsome smile, found her eyes captivated for a full tick before they darted hurriedly elsewhere. There was no way to run, either. Her knees had all but turned to jelly.

"So, what brings you here?" the Benshira began, hoping to make some harmless conversation. She immediately winced. The markets. He was here for the markets. What in Hai possessed her to ask such an obvious question?

"I mean," she tried to smooth over, "Sera Mora told me she spoke to your patron, and that he said you would be here. Which is why I came..." Blessed Yahal, that was even worse. Now she sounded like some kind of obsessive...suitor...

Oriah shot out her hand again with the bag of dates. "Care for another?"

Fortunately, right at that moment another merchant chose to hawk his wares within earshot. She'd been hearing declarations of the best dates, the best spices, the best silks ever since she set foot within the bazaar, but this hawker in particular caught her attention. "Story books, history books, religious writings, take your pick!" he was shouting. "All for a reasonable price!"

Oriah glanced up at Marrick with an eager smile, earlier embarrassments quickly forgotten. "Your Shiber has gotten better, but shall we test just how much?" she suggested with equal parts excitement and mischief. Then, without thinking, she took his hand in hers and led the raven haired squire toward the book seller.

"Yahal blesses me to greet you, respected grandfather," Oriah greeted the wizened old merchant. His rheumy eyes widened a little in surprise, but he smiled all the same, showing a few of his missing teeth, and beckoned with a leathery hand for them to come closer.

"And what do we have here?" he chuckled as he returned the greeting in Shiber. "He blesses you justly, child. I am Erim, from the tents of Ebyrim, of the sons of Eliada. For whom have my books stirred interest?"

Oriah relished the familiarity of such initiations. "Once I was Oriah, from the tents of Zahar, of the sons of Malech. Then, when I left my tent to travel the world, I became Oriah Azari." She switched back to Common, both for Marrick's sake and as a kind of subtle homage to her new way of life. "But now I am Oriah, squire to Sera Mora of the Green Company. Pleased to meet you."

"Ahh." Old Erim tilted his head back, absorbing this lengthy string of titles. "And who might your friend be?"

Once Marrick had exchanged his greetings as well, as was customary, the book seller leaped merrily into the task of showing his new customers his precious wares. Though most Benshira merchants took great pride in what they sold, Erim was a different breed of craftsman altogether. He had bound many of the books he sold himself and treated them as if they were his own children.

"So, what would the happy couple like to see first?" he asked as he clapped his sun-browned hands together and smiled another near-toothless grin.

"Ahh, we're not--"

"Historical books, perhaps?" Erim went on, completely ignoring Oriah's half-hearted protests. It was like he could smell her lack of conviction. "Or a story of adventure for squires such as yourselves! Maybe one with a good bit of romance--"

"This one!" Oriah stabbed blindly at a random tome. "We want to look at this one! Er, please?"

Erim raised an eyebrow, picked up the book in question, and asked in the most skeptical of tones, "This book?"

"Yes." Oriah blurted.

The old book seller took a closer look at the book's title. "This, ah, children's book called 'The Three Little Lizards and The Big Hungry Hawk' is the one you wanted?"

"Umm," Oriah hesitated, not daring to look at Marrick's expression right now for fear of what she might find, "yyesss..."

Erim scratched his head for a tick. Then something akin to realization dawn on his weathered face and his smile grew wider. "Ohhh, I see. You two have children, yes? Splendid, how splendid. Well I have many wonderful story books for you, my friends!"

"But--"

"Don't, ah, how do you say in Common...don't move a muscle!" the old man cackled as he hobbled away to bring out more children's books. "I will be right back with just what you're looking for!"

Oriah watched him bustle away with a crushing sense of hopelessness. She looked down at the incriminating book and, with not much else to do at this point, flipped it open to a random page. "It..." the Benshira choked, feeling the heat of mortification reach from head to toe, "...it has...nice pictures, don't you think?"

[Marrick Corvis]

The first thing Marrick felt was the slightest bit of shame for embarrassing his blessed Oriah, yet he had begun to grow more and more brazen in the comfort with his feelings for her. His russet cheeks banished forever beneath a broad smile as he grinned back at the gapers and grinners. The Benshira’s laughter was edible, filling the Kelvic with the substance that only laughter can. And nothing could have replaced the mischievous joy that came with making her turn a shade of crimson. She had missed him, and those little words, though preceded with the Dancers growingly familiar stutter filled his heart with hope. Of course she followed them with the only other driving force in Marrick’s life besides the Order and Oriah. Food. She showed him the strangest looking little dried up fruit he had ever seen. They seemed desiccated and rotten figs, yet the Kelvic sensed no corruption as he furtively sniffed at her offering. They smelled almost like cane sugar, and strangely similar to Figs or Apricots. The Kelvic nodded vigorously at her enticing offer of trying the little treats from the Eyktol. Their eyes met briefly and the world faded for him as he searched the pools of her eyes for an oasis or two only to find them far more enticing than fresh water on a hot day. The Raven inside him goaded him to take one of the two dates from her palm with his mouth, the idea of which only served to delight the Kelvic. He leaned forward like a sapling tree that bowed in the wind only for her to turn away just before he took one of them from her palm without touching the flesh of her hand. He felt the slightest twinge of disappointment that she had missed his tender teasing gesture, yet at the same time was grateful he had gotten away with it. The other he stole into his palm as he chewed the first. It’s flesh was sweet, grainy, and yielding. Like a heavy cake, or a sugar wafer. Yet this little treat tasted so unlike anything he had ever tasted before the Kelvic had to admit it was its very own flavor. Marrick was about to praise the richness of the treat only to amusedly find Oriah fumbling with her words again. It was endearing, and for whatever reason the Kelvic found he was more and more attracted to the way she tried so hard to say the right thing. His smile only grew with each passing attempt. Each Faux Paw was another temptation for him to simply close his lips about hers as he told himself he would a season ago in the woods when they had met last. The idea of kissing her there in the crowded market, and the epilogue of such an act made his smile grow till it pained him to hold it. And then she told him that she had come to see him. That was why she was there. Not to see the market and get a feeling for home again. Not to taste old food she had not seen in years, but to see him. If Marrick had any doubts about what the Benshira’s feelings were toward him, they were banished like shadows before the coming dawn. Shock at this realization suppressed Marrick’s smile down to the most bewildered and sweet little upturn of his lips. If seen, it would bring an ache of longing to an onlooker’s heart. So lost was he in her words that he absentmindedly took another handful of dates, though he still held the remaining one in his hand. Fortunes kindness, Marrick managed to lift another date to his mouth and replaced the pit of his previous snack with another gooey grainy sweet date. The pit, and the remaining dates stored in his hip pouch Marrick was content to watch Oriah with that sweet smile. His eyes and mind rested upon the waves of her hair, and the fantasy of playing with it. When her eyes met his again at last something inside them burned. They seemed lit with an idea, and the Dark haired squires own response was a face that seemed mildly suspicious. His eyes narrowed a moment almost as if to say ‘what are you up to.’ Yet when she spoke of how his Shiber had improved, he was disarmed by the flattery in her voice. As usual it was a challenge to be accepted, and met. Her delicate and work rough hand grasped his and Marrick was filled with the flush of such a pleasant surprise that it made his smile grow until its genuineness made the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes stand out. She practically dragged him through the market toward a bookseller, and the impending dread of heavy reading filled the Kelvic. Marrick had learned how to read from his third master only so that he might excel at his work as a messenger, but books held a certain dread to him. Like looking into the depths of the sea, one never knew what swam there. Before he could squirm his hand away, there he stood like a sore thumb before an elderly man who’s skin was not unlike the consistency of the parchments he sold. He was a curious one, and the Kelvic’s own interest made him lilt his head to one side in thought as he considered the old man. He seemed one who might have a tale or two not written down, and the concept of a story Marrick found far more appealing. As the pair conversed in their native tongue, Marrick felt the most pleasant sensation of listening to a private conversation, or seeing some sort of right. The Kelvic found tradition fascinating and extremely appealing in its repetition, as he had none of his own. He made out a couple words. The word for ‘Tent’, ‘father’ and Oriah’s name. No mention of Yahal though, their beloved god. Marrick was slightly disappointed, he had enjoyed the idea of having a God that loved him. So many other races did, it seemed cruelly unfair that all Kelvic’s sprung from a lab experiment. Perhaps that was why he had such a positive relationship with Pycons. At last the pair spoke common again and Marrick listened intently until it was his turn to give greeting. “Oi’m Squire Marrick Corvis Ser, a pleasure teh make yer woise acquaintance.” The dark haired squire said with a pleasant smile, and an appropriately low bow of his head. The idea of a book didn’t seem such a bad prospect from the wizened man. The hawker made it seem easy. There was something in his energy, that battled staunchly against his withered frame, fuelled by the joy that filled him. ‘Are all Benshira so happy?’ Marrick contemplated thoughtfully as the man began rummaging about his little booth. It was then that Marrick realized that he had called them “A Couple.” The idea immediately gave the Kelvic the most mischievous little smirk that he struggled to hide it. It only made it worse that Oriah tried to argue against what the Kelvic felt was a fair accusation. Erim brought out historical volumes, and stories of adventure and romance. All the while Oriah tried with all her might to set the man straight. During her desperate struggle against her accuser, Marrick grinned ear to ear as she held his hand and stifled an endless flood of snickers, cackles, and hiccup inducing laughter. The Torture, sadly, and gratefully ended the moment she chose a book seemingly at random. The hawker appeared skeptical at first as he lifted the little book out of the neatly stacked and organized racks. The little volume was dusty, but most of them were. It had a beautifully designed embossing of a fierce looking bird of prey on its cover as it chased three little lizards. Hesitation now replaced his companion’s once desperate actions. Apparently The Three Little Lizards and The Big Hungry Hawk was not exactly what Oriah had had in mind. Marrick’s guise held a visage of mild confusion at first. When Erim concluded that they had children together, the Kelvic’s eyebrows rose, and his smile grew until he had to hold his sides to keep from laughing. He knew what the Dancers reaction would be long before she had it and the anticipation killed him. As the man brought the book forward with a grin that could only be described as pride Marrick had wound his lips into a face similar to a camel in his efforts to keep from smiling. While Oriah stared at the little tome with a look similar to humiliated defeat, Marrick at last gave her hand a tender reassuring squeeze before he let go and leaned in to look at the book. Indeed it had well drawn pictures. Its words were both in Shiber and Common, and the illustrations would do well to teach a child, or a very young Kelvic, how to speak Shiber. It was perfect. However, the little Raven in the Dark haired squire stirred. It goaded him to tease her further, and if an aurist had looked at the Kelvic in that very moment they’d have been blinded by the color of his playful naughtiness. “Aye, the wee ones will love it Ser. Seems a perfect tale teh read teh our wee lads boy the foire in any tent, hearth, or hall. It’ll help teach them Shiber fer certain.” Marrick grinned broadly as Oriah’s countenance seemed to shrink. His smile though turned sweet as he placed a tender arm around her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. “But what of Yahal? Do yeh have any books about the faithful?” Marrick said at last letting the joke blessedly die. Erim’s smile had waxed to a sweet and tender upturn of the mouth perceiving what he believed to be a young couple shopping for their children, a loving father who wanted nothing more than to read to his children, and an awkward new mother who loved her babies. The Kelvic could not be certain, though he could have sworn that he caught the old man sniffing back a little tear. Or perhaps it was just sand in his eye. “You’re a sweet man and clever. Indeed there is much children need to learn, the Shiber tongue just being part of it. The other is faith in Yahal, beloved are his children.” Erim’s parchment like hands drifted just a moment and he plucked another small volume from his racks of endless paper and scrolls. It was an old book to be sure. It seemed to have taken a fair share of punishment in its day. Its embossed leather surface was faded, worn, and cracked though it may have been oiled daily once. The symbol upon its surface may have once been a turkey, or some sort of bird, but as Marrick touched its raised form the sensitive tips of his fingers understood it to be a winged man; something that spoke personally to him. “What sart o’ book is it?” Marrick said as he lovingly opened its pages alongside the childrens book. A look of intense interest twinkling in his eye for the collected works before them. “It’s a collection of Yahal’s Parables. Typically this sort of thing is passed down as a family heirloom, and is carried within the family. This one’s family now rests with Yahal. It would only be right to pass it along to a new family.” Erim seemed hesitant to let it go, yet something in the way that Marrick stood with his arm wrapped about Oriah’s shoulder like a warm cloak seemed to speak to the carter. “They’ll be loved.” Marrick said with a softness both sweet and tender as he reached into his hip pouch for his personal bag of Mizas. He set it down with a heavy jostling of coins, and smiled. “Miza’s could never pay teh balance the scales fer sech a gift as these foine warks.” The Kelvic’s smile was warm and genuine as he loosened the strings of his miza pouch. The gold rimmed coins spilled out with the pleasant shuffle of metal and stone scraping against itself. “But, Miza’s are all Oi have.” Eram shrugged his shoulders a moment and sighed as he scratched at the white whiskers of his week old beard. “Miza’s will do fine son.” The old man said with the slightest inkling of affection. As the old fellow counted the coins out Marrick nudged the bag forward with its entirety of one hundred gold mizas. He knew the book was old and worn out. He knew it was likely worth far less than a typical prayer book. But this little book had been held by people that had loved it, and for the strangest reasoning that anyone could ever imagine, that made it far more sacred than any holy relic to him. When Eram began to haggle the price, Marrick simple shook his head. “Oi know its an old tome ser, but Oi insist yeh take what Oi have. It’s warth more than Miza’s, n’ teh put a proice on such an artifact doesn’t sarve.” Marrick’s eyes held a softness to them, and expressed an emotion one could only describe as solemnity. He was determined to make these books mean something to him, and to tell the old man that they would continue to. For a moment Eram’s smile grew small again, and he nodded sagely as he stroked his chin in thought. “Would- Would you like me to wrap them in parchment?” The old man’s voice grumbled almost as if he were being choked with something, and he coughed to clear it. “As a gift perhaps?” Marricks smile returned sad and sweet to his lips, genuine as pearls. “Aye, no foiner gift could be given ser.” The pair watched the old man as he turned and took the books to the back of the booth to be wrapped, into a fold of paper. He bound them with a little knot and sealed the whole thing with a glob of wax. He moved slowly and purposefully as if burdened by a great weight, and when he presented the gift to them his eyes seemed a shade redder. As Marrick grasped the wrapped books in his hand he saw the familiar stain of wayward tear as it had splattered on the surface of the brown parchment. The kelvic’s brow furrowed a moment at the evidence before him, and he laid the books down on the counter, and gripped the elderly man’s shoulder. “Oi’ don’t know enough Shoiber teh say this roight, but Yahal smiles on you father.” It wasn’t perfect Shiber, but the gesture seemed to warm the old man’s heart. His toothless smile returned and he took a deep breath gripping the Kelvic’s shoulder in reciprocation. A friendly nod was all the old man needed to express before the pair let go. Marrick recovered his books as the old man retreated to the back of his booth. Feeling somewhat triumphant the Kelvic turned to face the punishment he would most likely deserve from his blushing companion. “Did Oi pass the challenge?” He said with a grin that dripped with playfulness.

[/quote]

[Oriah]

"Aye, the wee ones will love it Ser."

The tips of Oriah's ears burned hot enough to light a wick.

And it wasn't just that they had children. They had two boys, in fact, to read to by a warm, crackling fire. In a tent or cottage or hall, it didn't matter. The thought alone was enough to instill within her a strange mix of mild distress and confounding curiosity.

The Benshira had never given much thought to settling down before; she was a nomad, her path moving ever forward under Yahal's protection, come what may. She delighted in the company of children and possessed the innate value for familial bonds. But having first chosen the life of a traveler, then of a knight in training...it never even occurred to Oriah that she should pass life on to a new generation. The idea was so distant and foreign she scarce knew how to react.

But, in spite of all the confusion and unfamiliarity of new territory, the squire could not deny there was a certain sense of appeal to the images now forming in her head. Of a simple but safe home to return to, of tiny hands and bodies wrapped in her own. Of a family she had long since lost, the images made all the stronger by Marrick's tender gesture on her shoulder.

Oriah looked up at him then and felt a stab of pain. It was a good kind of pain, though. The kind that came when old things were torn down so that new things could be built in their place. The kind that one had no choice but to feel when letting go.

Life had never been the same without Priah. Year after year passed with Oriah growing around every turn, but there was always this sense of something missing. She had spent the first decade or so of her life having her twin by her side. They shared every experience, every failure and success, every secret. They talked long into the nights about what their lives would be like when they were old enough to manage families of their own. Their husbands would be brothers and their children would be the best of friends. Silly dreams for silly, young girls.

Though she couldn't quite believe in her life going the way of pure tent life through and through, Oriah went along with her sister's fantasies. They were fun in their own right. And, honestly, how bad could anything be so long as she and Priah were together?

But then her twin was murdered, and Oriah was never able to picture her future the same way again.

While her mind wandered of its own will to dark places once more, Marrick and Erim exchanged mutually passionate and eager words over the various tomes. Oriah watched and smiled, but said little. It was forever a struggle it seemed to wrestle with Priah's ghosts. Even after all this time, the battle had to be hard won. Only now, with the merry-eyed squire by her side, the triumph came with just a little less strife.

Oriah looked up at the young man beside her, allowing herself to grow a tiny bit lost in the cheerful crook of his grin and gentle sweep of his eyelashes. He also smelled the way he felt. Clean, warm, good. The Benshira had no knack for poetry, though sometimes Marrick's presence made her want to try all the same.

When he had finally settled on what he wanted to purchase, Oriah blinked down at the tome in surprise. An heirloom of parables concerning Yahal? To be passed down from one family to another? The heat returned to her face as the Benshira digested any accompanying implications. Marrick seemed to mind not one bit, which only made her heart flutter even more erratically.

Once the tome was paid for and handed over, Erim's eyes seemed to grow slick with emotion. To Oriah's further surprise, Marrick beat her to the punch, offering words of gratitude she hadn't any idea he'd even remembered. Blessed Yahal, the man certainly had a way with tongues. Oh gods, don't think about tongues...

"We'll devote ourselves to ensuring this book comes to no harm, you have our word," she assured the old book seller before they departed.

"It couldn't be in better hands, then," he grinned back toothlessly.

After they left Erim to attend to other customers, Marrick turned to face her and asked, “Did Oi pass the challenge?”

Oriah looked up at him and couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth twitch. "You did, Squire Corvis. Though perhaps a little too well." She rubbed unconsciously at her arm on the side that Marrick had touched, wondering what they ought to do next. They still had a whole day ahead of them and market to explore.

"Are you hungry?" she ventured, an idea forming in her head. "We can taste more of my people's foods. There are many to choose from here. Maybe we can have some to take with us and find somewhere to look at your new book?"

It was still a bit difficult stringing together so many Common words in one breath. The letters sometimes felt clumsy in her mouth, but before Marrick she felt oddly at ease. Even after all of his earlier antics.

A familiar scent wafted through the air and Oriah closed her eyes to sniff. Mmmm, lamb.

"Our first stop would be my favorite. Someone is already preparing it, even though it is usually saved for evening meals. What do you say, Squire Corvis?"

[Marrick Corvis]

The Benshira’s reaction was more than the mischievous Kelvic had hoped for. The sliver of guiltiness at teasing her so cruelly pricked at his heart. Though just. The skin in Oriahs cheeks added a pleasant amount of blush, and Marrick couldn’t help but caress one of them with a fond smile. It took all his will not to drop his bags and books, and kiss the sweet lips of hers in a desperate effort to give into his desire. Instead he sighed the feelings away and lilted his head and gave her an affectionate, yet smug smile. He dropped his hand down to her shoulder and ran his fingers down her arm to clasp her hand in his own. He gave it a tender squeeze and hefted his bag onto his shoulder, positioning it into a more comfortable place. All the doubt and worry he faced on so many days and all the realistic knowledge of what their lives might be like dissolved into a rosy image of contented happiness. The Kelvic felt he could wander the world with this bright eyed, and beautiful Benshira. Truly, he would have settled simply to be near her, and to have the opportunity to maintain that happiness. If Marrick felt an obligation to the Order for saving his life, and providing him with his liberation. He felt that Oriah’s happiness was a calling. A marvellous garden that needed tending, and love. The visual concept made the Dark Haired squire’s smug smile dwindle to a mysterious smirk that made his brow relax along with his eyes. He wanted Oriahs life to be a happy one. It wasn’t the first time the Kelvic had felt selflessness in himself, though it was the clearest he had ever experienced it. It was like seeing reflection in a placid lake. Her hand in his he turned to the side just a little so that they shared an equal space and he looked sheepishly at the ground. His smile growing again into a smirk. As they turned away from Erim’s Book stand, she called out what sounded like some sort of promise or perhaps an oath to the old man. Again he managed to remember the flow of a couple of the words, but Oriah spoke her native tongue so quickly the Kelvic felt dizzied. ‘One day Oi hope Oi can speak it as well as she.’ He thought to himself as they walked slowly. She told him he had passed her test, and offered him an award better than Mizas. Food… Not just any food… New Food….. The Kelvic’s failed miserably to stifle his lip smacking as he tried to swallow down the saliva as it filled his gums. He swallowed visibly, and looked around. To someone who didn’t know that Marrick loved food they may have thought that the Benshira had offered him something innapropriate. But in truth the Raven haired squire wasn’t nervous. He was restless. The smells from the Bizarre that day had given him an itch that only discipline and obligation could ever hope to stifle. He didn’t tell her that he was starving, which he was. He didn’t tell her that he was exceedingly eager. It just didn’t go through his mind. He wasn’t sure what part of him spoke, but it was straight to the point. He lifted his gaze and his eyes met hers. His breath caught in his chest so buoyant were his feelings on the subject. All concept of his duty forgotten. He searched the pools of her eyes and whispered. “When do we starht?” His voice was breathy and full of veiled eagerness, yet none but Oriah would perceive it. She gripped his hand hard and towed him forward, as if he were naught but a flag in her grasp. They passed many hawkers, and criers; silks, seasonings, singers, and dancers. When they stopped at blessed long last they stood at a large tent whose sides had been lifted and tied. Carpets and Rugs littered the floor in a hodge podge of ornamented fabric. There were low tables, and pillows for sitting. When Marrick knelt to feel the fabrics, and wood of the table he couldn't help but admire their durable design, and aesthetic craftsmanship. They all looked so foreign, yet felt incredible. Were he not in public he very well might have rubbed his cheek against it to better experience its substance. Sunlight peaked through the holes in the top of the tent casting dazzling dots of colour across the floor. The tent reminded the Kelvic of the roof top sitting areas of Ravok. Yet the truly enticing aspect of this little mobile eatery, was the smell. Marrick found the scents of Syliras Market to always have a certain food odour, along with refuse, animal smells, smoke, and much much more. The simple brick and steel grill the proprietor of this establishment stood behind flipping skewered bits of meat mixed with vegetables, dominated the centre of the tent. Marrick’s eyes seemed lost as he approached the cook’s station like a child seeing something amazing for the first time. It wasn’t the first grill he had ever seen, yet he walked with an uncertain meander. It was past the mid-day bell. So this preparation was either for the evening meal, or perhaps for wanderers of the Bazaar. When he at last stood before the grilling stove he leaned in a little too close for appropriate behaviour and inhaled deeply of the seasoned meats and his broad shoulders slumped in the pleasant defeat of knowing you’ve found something comfortingly edible. Like hot stew or tea on a cold day. As he turned to Oriah, he clamped a hand over his mouth, yet it was obvious his hand concealed a ludicrously happy smile. The Kelvic didn’t even bother asking, he simply nodded his head vigorously in eager consent to her choice. When he at last regained his composure he lifted her hand, slipped a few of his Mizas into it, and closed her fingers about them. “Yeh torture me with anticipation, love.” He said softly as their eyes met. “Oi’ll foind us a table.” He took the opportunity to give her a tender kiss on the cheek before he retreated to a nearby table, laid down his pack, and kicked off his boots to sit cross legged on one of the large pillows. As he sat, he pulled out the children’s book they had just purchased and touched its leather embossed surface. He was filled with a restless desire to open the book and read of its pages, yet the idea of doing it without Oriah held his curiosity at bay. Instead he laid the book down and found the feisty Benshira as she ordered their food. Marrick shook his head in incredulous bliss. The sandy haired squire somehow always seemed more beautiful every time he saw her. It was like, living in a world where every dawn of Syna’s light was brighter, and more filled with wonder each passing day. The Kelvic though, was unsure of how he would manage to contain his excitement when she sat down with him. Oriah, and new cuisine. It was enough to make Marrick twitch in anticipation.

[Oriah]

Oriah forced her eyes not to close as his hand clasped around hers. His palm was warm and dry as it enveloped her own, and it made her want to forget everything else in the world. She only barely managed some semblance of a farewell to the book seller before they turned away from his stand.

Sorcery, plain and simple. Somehow, it always managed to feel like a waking dream whenever Marrick was near, especially whenever her thoughts drifted back to the unexpected kiss they had shared more than a season ago. At times Oriah would press her fingers to her lips and develop a glassy, distant look in her eyes, debating furiously inside her own mind whether that had been real or dreamt.

The Benshira's attention swiveled back to the present as her companion smacked his lips and swallowed. She grinned at this, knowing better than most the pale eyed squire's acute fondness for food. Which he confirmed all the more with his breathy, eager answer.

Beaming back up at him, Oriah strengthened her grip around his hand and tugged him along with her as she dove into the crowd once more.

Sounds and smells varying across an entire spectrum of loudness, oddness, and heart aching familiarness bombarded their senses as the two squires wove their way through the bustling throng. The Benshira felt like she was swimming through a sea of pure noise and scents and bodies. But all she had to do was focus on the feeling of Marrick's hand clasped around hers to remember she was in no danger of being drowned or swept leagues and leagues away.

When they finally arrived at the first tent of many, Oriah took pleasure in watching her fellow squire touch and admire the exotic furnishings. He was ever curious, ever eager. Despite every cruelty he endured in his past, the man still held an almost childlike wonder for all things beneath Syna's vast reach.

The sizzles and intoxicating smells coming from the grill, however, took precedence over all else. And the Benshira couldn't blame him. Upon inhaling those familiar, spiced scents, this time Oriah did close her eyes, if only for a moment, as blissful nostalgia washed over her. She opened them just in time to see Marrick turning around wearing an absurdly happy smile that peeked rebelliously past the contours of his clamped hand. The cook behind gave the squire an odd but amused look before shaking his head and returning his attentions back to the sizzling food.

Marrick said nothing, nodding eagerly instead and lifting Oriah's hand to place a few mizas in her palm. He called her 'love' again, causing her heart to skip two or three consecutive beats, before offering to find them a table. This time, it was the Benshira's time to find herself speechless as she nodded in assent. She privately wondered if the simplest of his touches would ever lose their mystifying abilities to send goosebumps and heat running across her skin at the same time.

Oriah accepted the money and, once she discerned where her handsome companion had chosen to sit, pivoted around on her feet to face the meat griller.

"Peace be upon you, revered cook," she greeted the man. He greeted her back in a similar fashion, though he addressed her as a revered lady in place of knowing her true profession, and gave her a heartfelt smile. The lass found it somewhat odd to be referred to as a lady, but appreciated the man's sincerity to overlook it.

"Might I purchase two of your lamb kabobs?"

"Certainly," the cook nodded deeply. "One for you and your honorable husband, coming right up!"

The man's arms became blurs as he revealed the true complexities of his craft, leaving Oriah to stand there, dumbfounded, unable to think of anything to convince him otherwise. She and Marrick were getting mistaken for a bound and tied couple everywhere they went today and she'd yet come up with a single way to correct the merchants. Not that, in retrospect, she truly wanted to, the Benshira secretly admitted to herself...

Before she knew it, two kabobs complete with juice junks of lamb, onions, bell peppers, garlic, and tomatoes, all sprinkled with spices native to the Eyktol, were placed on two separate plates. Then the cook heaped on a generous spoonful of seasoned rice beside each kabob, and as a final garnish, drizzled a special, green sauce across everything.

"That will be four gold for both plates, my lady," the man smiled as he passed her the heaping platters.

Sneaking a glance at Marrick, Oriah nodded and smiled back. But not before she added two gold of her own to the coins he had given her and handed the total sums over. The cook received them with a bow, to which Oriah nodded deeply in return. Then her stomach gurgled soundly at the sight and smell of such heavenly food and it was all she could do not to sprint over to Marrick's table.

By the time she tottered over, struggling not to spill their incredible looking food, the Benshira was panting a little from effort and so dizzy with hungry that she was starting to suspect Marrick's portions might be in danger.

"Lunch is here!" she announced as she set down the steaming platters and took a seat beside the other squire.

But before they dug in, she withdrew a bundle wrapped in brown paper and opened it to reveal a handful of freshly baked, Benshiran flatbread. The cook had snuck her an extra helping with a wink before she'd left, saying something about her needing the extra nourishment if she wanted to start her new family soon. Oriah had grown furiously flustered at this, but she was so grateful she thanekd the man anyway, and tucked the package beneath her arm as she hurried away.

"You use the bread to eat, no forks or spoons," she explained with a grin. "And for the rest, we must dig in with our hands."

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick briefly contemplated his voyeuristic tendencies toward his fellow squire from the Eyktol. A smile, more genuine than words from a child’s mouth, grew on his face as he watched her interact with the man cooking on his grills. His new books forgotten he took in her lithe shape, and interrogated himself as to why he didn’t do this more often. Though, a quiet little thought in his head told him that the likely reason was that he saw her as more than just flesh. Oriah was his friend, his companion, and his fellow squire. She was the person he desired as so much more than one single thing… When the paranoid voices sprang to his minds surface as they often did when his thoughts turned to the concept of a life with Oriah. They spoke of bondage, of servitude, and slavery. They told him she would cast him aside. They warned him he would fall, only to dash his feet upon the stones of his misfortune. They asked him, would it be worth the pain, the scars. Would Oriah be worth worse than a broken body, they whispered to him? Would Oriah Azari be worth a broken heart? The Kelvic’s sigh of relief was audible and his eyes blinked lazily as he watched her exchange kind words with her kinsman. She was kind to everyone she met. Regardless of her loss. No family about her. No brothers or sisters to comfort her. She was like him. An Orphan in her own right. ‘Yes…’ It would be worth it. Even to fail. Even to cast himself down in agony if she rejected him. The dark haired squire admitted it to himself, if only subtly. He loved Oriah Azari. It wasn’t just a little feeling. Marrick knew it. It was the voice that hissed warnings at him that convinced him, would it all be worth the pain, and the tying of himself to her, and the only answer he had was of course. There was not a purer soul he had ever met. He could not wipe the bright smile he held for her off his face as she approached, though he wiggled subtly in anticipation. The combination of Oriah, and Food was difficult to resist. Her bright smile, as she sat down at the low table across from him on a rather abused looking pillow, left the Kelvic with a feeling of euphoria. He sighed contentedly as she laid down his plate of food. Had he a tongue long enough, he would likely have licked his face in anticipation of the mess of juices he was about to leave upon it. However, part of that experience was always the smell, and the visual symphony of what lay before him. Marrick listened patiently as the Benshira told him. It seemed a simple enough meal, and the dark haired squire suspected that the hardest part of this little culinary treasure was the mixture of the spices. The long metal skewers were loaded with well cooked meat, simple vegetables, and the whole thing smelled as if it had been marinated. The little drizzle of green sauce smelled spicy enough to light a fire, and the Kelvic began planning ahead to shovel heaping spoonful after spoonful of the rice into his maw just to absorb some of that burning sensation. When the azure eyed Benshira sat down next to him, he squirmed with excitement. “Sylir’s peace n’ Blessed Yahal this looks incredible. Oi can’t wait teh troy this.” When she opened the brown paper fold of flat bread, Marrick’s curiosity nibbled on the reasoning behind such a generous addition to their meal. His mind chewed on it as he considered every Benshiras reaction to them today as they had perused the market. They were very focused on family amongst the Benshira, or so it seemed. The realization of why the cook had given them extra bread slid into his minds eye, and the Kelvic’s smile turned to a mischievous smirk. “Yer folk certainly have expectations don’t they.” Marrick’s vague statement came out and he shook his head, though his smile stayed. His eyes began to search Oriah’s face for a hint of her leanings on the subject and he began to notice little things about her. The bread seemed to agitate her, but not in a negative way. Marrick watched as her lips pouted slightly. His mind reeled back happily to a day in summer when he had managed to taste the softness of her mouth. His pale cheeks flushed openly and his mischievous smirk transformed to a smile of reflection. However, it did not last long. “Who needs forks er’ spoons at a toime loike this? Oi could eat the rearin stallion outa house’n home!” Marrick said as he snatched a skewer off of his plate and tore a large piece of lamb off. The pure delight of the tangy spiced meat hit his tongue and made his senses tingle. Tears of pure pleasure formed at the corners of his eyes and he closed them in an attempt to lessen the distractions of everything around him. A moaning sigh escaped his throat as his shoulders rolled back. “It’s so goood.” The Kelvics words were muffled through a mouth full of food, yet the agony of pure bliss could still be heard in them. “Blessed woman, yeh treat me too well!” Marrick managed when he at last swallowed. “It’s more marvelous than anythin Oi’ve tasted here, or in Ravok.” He changed pace a moment and tore away a quarter of onion. He used the little shell of flavor to scoop up a small bit of rice and chewed vigorously. The food was exquisite and the Dark haired squire found himself lacking in thoughtful idea, or word. When all was packed tightly into his belly he tore off a handful of flat bread and sopped up the remnants that still haunted his plate. After a moment or two of triumphant pats of his belly and the filling in the corners of his stomach with delightfully floury flat bread, Marrick sat back a on the weathered pillows of the Food tent. His smile was broad and his eyes lazy in their openings and and shuttings. For a tic he sat there, still and satisfied. It was then that a strange thought entered the Kelvic’s head. Why didn’t he just tell Oriah what he was. Surely she wouldn’t judge him poorly for being a… ‘manimal’. The voices of doubt warned him profusely urging caution and protection. “Oriah?” He said at last, his smile diminishing slightly as they sat in the shaded area of the tent. When she sounded her response his courage dissolved and he awkwardly tried to recover. He bolted, upright. His back arched stiffly and he snatched the closest thing to him, as fortune would have it, was a the children’s book they had just purchased. “So when will ye teach me the read? Oi’m a’quiver with excoitement!”

[Oriah]

It was unnerving sometimes the way he looked at her, as if he were digging for answers she knew not the questions to. Unnerving, and exhilarating.

As it always was with Marrick, when he let slip the comment about her people having expectations, Oriah couldn't quite tell if he spoke innocently or intentionally. Her own mind jumped instantly to all of times that day they'd been mistaken for a couple. And a couple with a family, to boot. It was still stirring around her emotions in a roil of confusion, but she couldn't be certain if that was what her fellow squire was referring to.

Could it have been? Or was he just being frank, as he so often was...

But then Marrick was back onto the subject of food, his enthusiasm contagious. First, he declared utensils nonessential. Then he exclaimed at the enormity of his hunger, right before sinking his teeth into the lamb. Oriah bit back her laughter as she watched him devour the meat. Marrick looked, as her people would say, like he hadn't eaten in a hundred years.

Her amusement, however, quickly transformed into fascination. Especially when he closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure, the sight and sound stirring something within her that she had been struggling to name ever since the first night they'd met. All the same, the Benshira liked it when her companion closed his eyes; it meant she could enjoy these unexpected expressions of pure, virile bliss on his comely features unabashedly, even if only for a precious few ticks.

By the time Marrick finished the piece of lamb and began rapidly moving onto other pieces of his portion, Oriah was already halfway to less-than-appropriate fantasyland. She managed to reel her thoughts back in with a modicum of composure, but thankfully the raven haired squire was too busy wreaking havoc on his meal to notice.

The Benshira grinned from ear to ear as she watched her companion use both hands to tackle multiple pieces of food. My Tent would have approved, she found herself thinking. A tinge of sadness came along with the thought, but she brushed it aside determinedly, not wishing to spoil a rare and wondrous afternoon with her friend. "I'm glad you like the food," Oriah beamed before digging into her own plate. She glanced back at the cook on a whim and saw he was smiling as well, fully aware of the gusto with which Marrick was eating. "And I think so is our esteemed cook. He looks very happy to see you eating like a starving man."

She wiggled free a piece of lamb with a torn piece of bread. "That is, by the way, a high compliment for a Benshira cook."

And then Oriah took a full bite of the meat, savoring the rush of flavor and juices that always came with the first taste. She may have been more accustomed to this kind of food, but it had been a long, long time since the Benshira had anything of the sort. The taste of the lamb after so many years left her no less lost in bliss as Marrick. Blessed Yahal, it was good.

After that, there was no more room for conversation. Both squires consumed the contents of their plates with so much enthusiasm that occasional passerby's would stop, stare, and then stroll into the tents to buy their own share.

It didn't take long for them to finish. And when they did...merciful gods and goddesses above. Oriah cleaned off her fingers without a second thought, the food and language and interactions of the day having brought out her heritage stronger than ever. She didn't realize how odd and uncivilized it must have looked until she'd licked most of the savory juices off of her hands and had already begun to dry her skin on her last piece of bread.

Freezing mid bite of the bread, Oriah reddened a little at what she'd just done. The last time she'd behaved in such a way in front of a Northerner, they'd looked upon her with unease, as if she might grow fangs and start scratching at an itch behind her ear with her foot.

Fortunately, her current companion seemed rather lost in thought. He spoke her name, softly, and the Benshira answered a little more breathlessly than she would have cared to admit. "Yes, Marrick?"

Oriah flinched in surprised as he sat bolt straight and grabbed the children's book he purchased in that same afternoon. For a moment, she was too distracted by his excitement and boyish charm as he asked when she would be teaching him to read. Then the young woman looked down, noticing dark fingerprints across the brown paper packaging, and jumped up in alarm.

"Ah, wait!" she tried to explain without panicking, hold her hands up in front of her. "The--the book! Don't touch, grease will ruin! Wait there, I get water..."

Oriah pelted through the tents, found the complimentary basin of fresh water, and picked up one of the ladles to scoop it full. Then she, very carefully, rushed back to where she'd left her companion and held out the ladle over the ground. "Here, hold out hands," she encouraged. Once he did, she poured the cool water gently over his palms and fingers, until the ladle was empty. Then she set the ladle down and used the hem of her coat to pat his skin dry.

Marrick's hands were as pleasing to the touch as ever, and Oriah was not ashamed this time to admit she'd spent a little longer than necessary drying them.

"There, now is safe to touch book," she smiled. "Books are very...ah, easy to ruin, with oils. But now you are clean, so no need to worry. I'll clean my hands, too. Wait one tick."

Oriah rushed back to get more water, rinsing her hands right next to the basin before drying them. Then she requested two, wooden cups from the cook, who happily handed them over, and filled each with water. She returned, cleaner and with refreshments to offer, and sat down beside Marrick.

"One for you, one for me. Okay, I believe we are ready. Shall we start to read this gift meant for our sons and daughters?"

She said this last bit with a hint of mischievousness. It couldn't be helped.