[Mithryn and Beyond]Through field and forest.(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

He watched her for a refined moment. Her eyes seemed to peer into a far off place, lost in some vivid memory. Yet all the Raven Kelvic could see was the lovely shade of blue the pools of her eyes made as the sunlight lit their sapphiric discs . He was close enough to see the dark window into her soul just as they focused on him, and for a moment he felt the strangest sensation of being tenderly held. The feeling was enough to halt his breath for just a moment before he inhaled the very essence it. Marrick trapped that very tic close to his heart with the breath within him. A glowing coal seemed to fill his belly as her fingers intertwined with the straps of his breastplate, yet he had not eaten. He felt as if he were standing before a great gale and he reeled in anticipation of the lofty heights it would propel him to. Yet that moment did not come, the emptiness felt like a windy canyon of nothing but hopes and dreams. Though he could still feel the promise of what wind would bring if one waited for the right moment to leap headlong into it. The playful titter that Oriah stifled made Marrick smile at the embarrassing noises his voice yet made, even though it had been a year since he’d reached sexual maturity as a Kelvic. It seemed he still had some growing to do. And all too quickly. He suspected. The feeling of Oriah before him seemed to fill this stomach with the tickling sensation of wriggling fish. Yet the thought of fish did cause his belly to burble unbidden. “Oy, quiet down you. Grub soon!” The Kelvic said with a gentle wrap against his breastplate. As he lifted his gaze, he captured but a glimpse of something in the Benshiras look. Something familiar perhaps to his own emotions, but within a tics span it had been replaced with reason and sanity. Yet her outward appearance was betrayed by her voice, which brought Marrick a strange comfort in his own struggles. Oriah actually sounded regretful at the lack of his touch. His close presence actually seemed to make her feel something. But that’s impossible… right? Subtle as a snake the little doubtful voice popped into the Kelvics head denouncing him. You fool! It whispered all too eagerly. You understand exactly what you are and what she will think if you tell her. You are nothing but a pet, and she would put you in a cage. Even if you were to become bonded, it would be just that, bondage. You would be her plaything, and when she is done with you, you would be cast aside. Just like before. Suddenly the agonizing memory of his last months with the Hedonist in Ravok sprang to life in a horrid water painting of blood, ink, and paper. The tiny letter opener he held in his hand. Its tip buried deep in the man’s eye while his sick and twisted wife looked on with a maniacal grin. With a short shake of his head he pushed the memory away and tried to focus. This was not a time to be remembering that. He wanted this moment to be unspoiled. The Raven Kelvic wanted this, and Pech everyone in his way. Including common sense. Marrick set to searching the forest floor near the bases of trees for the incredible mushroom that Oriah had described to him. It was just a forest, untainted by magic, yet the Kelvic knew that nature held its own magic. He felt alive, and at home there browsing nature’s market. The oddest concept crossed into his mind then. A vision of what his life may have been like had he not been born into slavery. The very idea seemed a paradise to what he had experienced, the map work of crosshatched scars on his body stood testament to that. Yet, would he have met Oriah had that not happened. The sad truth that Marrick reached in his own mind was a resounding no. The second oddest concept then assaulted his ever evolving mind. He actually found a seed of gratefulness for his fate. All the horror, the agony, the terror he had witnessed, experienced, and committed had led him here. To this very moment, with Oriah at his side. The strangely peaceful thought was added to by the somewhat awkward question that Oriah asked him, a hinted edge of anxiousness in her tone. His searching ceased a moment and he stroked the leather of his Gorget. The cloth she had sent him beneath it pressed against his neck as it wound its way around his musculature. He had spent every moment with that little bit of cloth. It had covered his face when dust billowed. Kept him warm in cold nights. It had once held the faintest remnant of her scent. Now, all that was left was the musty fragrance of Marrick’s musk. “Well, fer starters, yeh speak n’ wroite a common tongue in no less elegance than me’self.” The Raven Kelvic said as he found a bright orange mushroom growing at the foot of an oak tree. He stood straight for a moment and inspected the leaves to be sure it was a familiar tree and not one he didn’t know. ‘Loike the Cedar, er Eucanuba, er whatever the bloody thing was called.’ He thought to himself with a somewhat amused smile. The leaf held the familiar rounded edges of an oak, and the twiggy bit of limb it was on felt like the haggard hand of an old man. With the curiosity of a child he even went so far as to pull a branch low enough for him to lick a wayward leaf. The Kelvic felt it with the sensitive flesh of his tongue. One side smooth as dry parchment, the other rough as a house cats tongue and Marrick felt the relief of being right. He was no skilled woodsman, but he knew enough to know that mushrooms were not a thing to play around with. If you ate the wrong one, you could get very sick or worse. His find safely in his sights he stooped over its little hiding place near the root of the tree, eyeing its yellowed edges. Thoughtfully he stroked the stubble of his chin as he spoke on to answer Oriahs question. “Every letter Oi get from yeh is a ray of sunloight on a cloudy day. Amused Oi may be, but only at why a bonnie lass as yerself would waste the treasure o’ toime on the loikes of me.” Marrick stepped into the rut of the root then, and knelt to closer inspect the bright orange shelf of mushroom. “The Lemon drops were a taste o’ sweet honeyed nectar. The food at Mithryn is a marvel of delicious stews n’ other meals made teh stick to yer ribs. But, nothin is quoite as wonderous as sweets.” The Kelvic slowly drew his little razor from its sheath and tapped the shelf mushroom in various places on its face to determine its density. He listened intently for a moment looking for a soft spot to shave off a piece of it. “Oi ‘ope ye don’t moind, but Oi did give a few o’ the little treats to the wee pages in the Garrison. Their wee little eyes brightened with deloight when they tasted it. N’ Oi coulda swarn that jest fer a moment, each one o’ the wee nippers was a choild again. Runnin n’ playin.” With a delicate shearing Marrick cut the mushrooms shelf at a soft spot, like he might an asparagus. The little sheared away piece reminded the Kelvic of a slice of melon, light and a little wet. “The cocoa went into a batch of cakes Oi made up. Oi even kept one fer yeh if yeh ever came teh Mithryn. Poor theng was wizened and moldy by seasons end.” Marrick said with a smile as he lifted his prize to the light and inspected it. Its bright orange color and yellow belly was just as Oriah had described, as was where he had found it. “As fer the scarf.” Marrick said as he pleasantly closed his eyes, his face a vulnerable mess of embarrassment and pride. “Oi’ve kept it close.” Marrick said as he unclasped the side buckle of his leather Gorget and unwound the scarf from his neck. As it unfurled in his hand he used it hold and showcase his little treasure. Like a proud child who had just found Gold Mizas for the first time he brought her the little gift with a smile so innocent and naiveté that it begged laughter. “Did I find one?”

[Oriah]

She hadn't known exactly what to expect. Polite gratitude was most likely, though somehow hollow at the same time. Disappointing, even. But then it couldn't be worse than outright indifference or, Yahal forbid, distaste, right? So what did that even leave...over the top excitement? No, Oriah mentally shook her head. That didn't seem right either. It felt just as meaningless as the first possibility.

In those few, nerve wracking moments before Marrick finally spoke, the Benshira's mind spun in helpless circles, as it was wont to do whenever the dark haired squire was involved. But it came to a gentle stop as those familiarly tender words tumbled forth from his lips.

Oriah couldn't hide the wry grin that usually accompanied the sound of Marrick's lilting accent. It was an earful each time, but all the more appealing for it, like a dish or spice she never tired of. The kind of sound that she found herself wanting to hear over and over for as long as she could. Thoughts of black magic crossed her mind once more, though it only widened her satisfied smile.

"I can't tell if you flatter or slight me, Squire Corvis," Oriah joked, laughing as she stopped with him to examine one of the trees. Then she remembered the very first letter he had written to her, delivered quite literally on the wings of feathery salvation.

"On second thought," she amended, lightly touching the breast of her armor where she kept that sentimental piece of paper tucked safe and sound. "You do not give yourself enough credit. Your Common is much, much better than mine, and in more ways than just written."

The glimpse of something bright and orange, however, stole the rest of her attention. Oriah hadn't thought they'd find one so fast, but she reminded herself to stay calm and inspect the thing first. The Benshira watched her fellow squire lick one of the leaves, presumably to identify the tree, and wrestled to keep her thoughts as chaste as possible.

His next words, however, did wonders for her valiant efforts. Because now she was struggling in mild outrage to find the right words to say. Oriah's mouth open and closed several times like a fish fresh out of water. She wanted desperately to tell him he was being absurd, that she'd never considered a single drop of time spent with or for him a waste. In fact, the squire-in-training thought very much the opposite, to her patron's eternal annoyance. It seemed she chafed against every tick she wasn't within Marrick's presence.

Sometimes it made her feel guilty. Oriah was acting like a child, she knew. And for all intents and purposes she may as well consider herself as one, being as clueless as she was to what was truly happening.

In her flustered muteness, the young woman overlooked how peculiar it was that Marrick had considered time a treasure. He was far too young to be thinking of such things. Oriah hardly thought past tomorrow, unless it had anything to do with the him. Mora's training tended to beat the living snot out of her. Subtly, of course, but it was exhausting all the same.

Between Marrick speaking of her gifts as if they'd been skins of water for a Syna-scorched traveler and the increasing excitement of eating that mushroom he was so astutely poking at, it was all Oriah could do just to stand still. Part of her burned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment at this unexpected reception of her care package. The other salivated at the very thought of lemon chicken. When he mentioned having shared his candy, she only just barely managed to form words in response.

"No, of course I don't mind! It's wonderful to know you were able to make the others happy. I'm glad they liked the drops, too. " And not to mention the thought of your kindness alone makes my heart melt faster than snow in the Summer, she silently added, but kept such bewildering things to herself.

"Cocoa cakes?" Oriah muttered quietly to herself in awe. She'd never even heard of such a thing. Her mouth was watering more than ever now, much to her further mortification, and her eagerness to try that bizarre looking mushroom intensified.

Then Marrick began unwinding something from his neck, and Oriah nearly lost her composure. Again.

He placed the mushroom, in all of its ridiculously bright hues, against the verdant backdrop of her final gift to him. To know that he had been wearing it all this time...if her heart had been unruly before, it was positively in open rebellion now.

"Yahal have mercy,", the Benshira blurted. His expression was so endearingly guileless that Oriah couldn't help but burst into another peal of laughter behind her hands. Not wanting Marrick to think she was insulting him, she stepped forward to examine the mushroom and give her full approval.

"Aye, this is the one, " she answered, still beaming, as she placed her hands under his to lift the offering closer and take in its scent. Mmm, it smelled quite good on its own already! Not to mention the aroma was made all the better by the warm feel of Marrick's hands against hers, for once within her grasp instead of the other way around. Oriah found the sensation as alluring as hearing him speak. She would have stayed that way for the rest of the season, if there hadn't been mushrooms to cook and wily patrons on the prowl.

"Maybe we should cook a little bit first and see if it makes us sick," Oriah offered, retracting her hands with visible reluctance. "Mora advised us to do this, in case it is not safe."

Having spent so much time in the forest made things like starting a fire just a little less of a hassle for the Benshira. With economical movements and reasonable speed, Oriah began collecting enough kindle for a small fire and took out her flint and stone from her pack, which still dangled from Kiter's saddle. The mare seemed quite content in forest surroundings, munching when she pleased and watching the amusing antics of her human companions.

Once she had the fire going, the squire beamed up at Marrick and held up a thin stick to spear the mushroom with. "I know we don't have anything to cook it with, but maybe this will do?"

She took that brief moment between her question and his answer to steal another bite of greed, looking up at his charming features under the pretense of expectancy. It felt ludicrously good to be out here in the woods, not training, with a small fire crackling, Kiter's comforting presence within arm's reach, and a handsome, fellow squire to share this lemony delicacy with.

Oriah hoped it would never end.

[Marrick Corvis]

“Yahal have mercy.” Marrick whispered in soft shiber mimicry of Oriahs most delighted phrase. He smiled in wonderment at the Wanderer of the Eyktol. The smitten could have written poetry both baudy, and beautiful about the Benshira, yet all he could do in the tumble of emotions he felt for her was marvel. His head lilted gently to one side as he watched her cup her cool hands over his. It came as a surprise as he was often the chilly one of the pair. The heat that blossomed in his hands sent a tingle up his spine while his heart beat like a Benshiras hand drum. Oriah’s laughter touched a tender place in Marrick’s heart. Such a pleasant titter that felt more genuine than pearls. Even if the Benshira was unaware that she was doing it, the Raven haired squire felt the warmth of reciprocation. A feeling that filled him with something more substantial than a warm meal on a cold day… Hope. As she removed her hands he felt a subtle ache in his chest, yet the warmth stayed for just a little while. The feeling brought the slightest hint of a smile to his face, and a sigh to his lips. The Benshira’s knowledge was right regarding food in the forest. Marrick knew how to scavenge for food as a bird or a man, but the culinary arts of the outdoors was an unknown to him. The idea was exciting to say the least, and he spent most of the time as she began to make a fire trying to conceal the bounce in his movements. While she gathered the smaller pieces of wood, he began searching for larger bits of dry downed tree to build the fire up enough to cook food. When he had found enough he settled in to watch what Oriah had learned in her time with the ‘Sandwitch’. Marricks little mental play on words brought out a secretly self-amused smile. He took special notice of how she struck flint to cause sparks in the fire. The method and means were interesting as well. A handful sized tuft of dry grass and crushed bark from a cedar, small twigs for kindling. As she brought the spark of life to its heart the little tuft grew smoky and hot with red glowing embers. He paid close attention to the way she blew onto the heart of the fire to make it actually light. The combination of Oriah’s bent posture and her struggle to blow life into the fire, made Marrick shiver with all sorts of Salacious thoughts. When she beamed up at him all he could manage was an awkward smile. While the tingle he had felt in his belly before, had reached well out to the tips of his fingers. The nervous energy made him cross his arms over his chest in an attempt to hide his desire to clench and unclench his fists in an anxious fit. As she presented the little twig for cooking, Marrick unraveled his arms to kneel at her side and inspect her makeshift Kabob. It was a sturdy bit of dry wood, but it needed a sharper point. With a gentle gesture he laid down the mushroom and produced his razor blade from his hip pouch and gently grasped the sticks end. With a focused and short effort he carved away a little of the tip to make it sharper, almost as if he were providing the smallest bit of input in a conversation. It was only when he looked up to find Oriah’s expectant gaze beaming back at him that he felt a warm jolt of heat enter his cheeks as his wild imagination took the hunger in her eyes for something more than just the expectation of his approval. He smiled for what must have been only a handful of tics, but for the Raven Kelvic it felt like an eternity in slow moving liquid. The boldness in him fought hard against his insecurities, and for the moment won. As he got up to gather more supplies his movement brought him close enough for a tender kiss to the Benshira’s cheek. Which, if he had felt that nervous energy tumbling through his belly before, the act of touching his lips to the young woman’s skin made the Kelvic feel as if he had a wild beast trapped in his gullet, desperate to escape. The moment was there for a precious tic, and gone again before he followed it with a whisper. “Aye Love, its parfect.” Like a wave that rushes upon the shore only to withdraw again Marrick stood to his feet leaving his fellow squire to prep the mushroom for cooking. He knew they would need more than just what they had, so he felt the urge to scrounge for additional supplies. Marrick had been contemplating his Salet Helm, which rested in the lower portion of his saddle bags. If he pulled the liner out it would work well as a cooking pot. He would simply need the right set of stones to rest it in. He felt woozy from his bold act, yet staunchly fortified, almost as if he’d just thrown back one of the hardest liquors served at the Rearing Stallion. It gave him the subtlest of swaggers as he strode toward Kiter, making a kissing noise with his lips to get her attention. The Mare made a low nicker and clomped her massive frame over to him to receive a small handful of oats, and a gentle stroke of her neck as Marrick removed his Sallet Helm and placed the liner back in his saddle bag. His new “pott” now in arm, he removed a portion of his rations and threw them in, knowing well that there would likely be cut and pre heated grains as well as some form of simple seasoning, be it salt, sugar, or cinnamon. If he was lucky there might even be chunks of dried beef. A smile in his heart and a grin on his face he cast his warm feelings toward the Benshira where she sat roasting the mushroom and felt lucky. Though strange as it may have been, he always felt lucky when he looked at Oriah. It was as if he never expected to meet someone so full of joy. It had changed him in more ways than he cared to admit. Joining the Order was a solemn task, finding the feisty Benshira at his side in that task kept him firmly planted there, though his heart may wander to the mountains and hills of the world as it did with most Kelvics. With a sigh of regret at not getting to stare longingly at her like some sort of puppy begging for a treat Marrick set about searching the clearing for little bits to add flavor to their meal. As he walked from place to place he softly hummed a lively tune, perhaps a little off key, but close enough to the song that was played the night that the pair had met. He’d practiced it enough to keep the melody going in his head, and it had brought him comfort many nights that he couldn’t sleep from the ache in his bones, or the longing in his heart. There was a subtle odor in the air similar to onions which brought the Kelvic to a small tuft of small tuberous shoots of green. As he spread the grass around them apart to better see them he broke one of the stalks and the smell of wild Onions burst out making the Kelvic lick his lips for just a tic before he produced his dagger. With a little effort he dug out the little flavorful shoots and beat off the dirt only to add them to his “pot”. “Ooh Thes’ll be something.” He muttered softly as he smelled a single stalk of onion. From then on, there wasn’t much but for a couple fat grubs from a rotting stump, and some stones to add around the fire. As he approached He knelt down and began to remove the treasures he had scrounged from his helmet. He built the stones into a semi circle to help guide the heat of the fire into a more focused location, and made a little pit for the Helmet to rest in, with enough space for some coals underneath it. By then, there were even some ready for use, which he shoveled into place with his dagger. The heat ready, the helmet empty and the fire crackling away, Marrick set out to prepare “the pot”. He emptied out half of his water skin into his upturned helmet and watched smugly as the water gathered in the bowl. He tested its weight for just a moment and placed it on the coals. The Kelvic felt pleased with himself and the little tenuous plan he had concocted for their meal. Like the budding cook that he was he was cautious, and careful as to how he went about prepping the little morsels. He offered Oriah a few shoots of wild onion for smell, while he shaved the rest into little bits with his razor blade before adding them to the pot. The scent they cast off was enough to bring tears both torturous and pleasant. “Onions, naught a man aloive hard enough teh foight Onions.” He said with a chuckle as he grasped for the rations he’d taken from his saddle bag. Lovingly he unfolded their waxen parchment covers and assessed their contents. A block of chewable meal, some dried beef, and what appeared and tasted like salt. “aye, that’ll make a difference.” He did the same with the other ration block he’d grabbed and found its contents to be similar save that the meat had been smoked and dried trout of some description. “Now tha’s more loike it. That aut teh be enough.” He tisked a moment though looking at the two meat options before them. “Don’t want teh drown it though.” Reaching some form of conclusion in his mind he shaved the fish up into little slivers and added them to the pot. The water had begun to boil if only just, but the aromas falling off their “pot” in waves was beginning to make the Kelvics belly rumble. “How’s the mushroom comin along?” Marrick said dashing the salt into their now simmering pot of salted water, wild onion, and fish.

[Oriah]

She blinked in surprise at hearing her own words echoed through Marrick's lips. He was ever curious and surprising in his abilities; few had the resolve to even attempt speaking her tongue. It was as complex as it was foreign and learning Shiber was not an endeavor for the weak willed. Yet, here he was, mimicking one phrase after another, completely undaunted and open to the experience. Something about it made her feel a little delirious. Excited and delighted and anxious all at once, though she could not pinpoint why.

Oriah felt him watching her as she built the small fire and the strange feeling heightened. On the surface, however, she managed to appear relatively calm, steady hands placing each piece of the little nest before striking flint and stone against one another. The flames were weak at first so she'd given what her people liked to call the Breath of Life, though the Benshira had learned early on during her travels it meant something a bit different in Common.

Such thoughts seemed to have a will of their own as they began circling around Marrick. Oriah reddened, quashed such fantasies, and focused on the makeshift cooking stick in her hand.

In way of an answer, her fellow squire took hold of one end of the stick and began sharpening it with his knife. Marrick's movements bore an efficiency to match her own. She supposed that was part of what it meant to be bound by the same Order. Different as their patrons may be, their duties and skills were much the same. For so long Oriah had trekked on her own, thinking and doing as an individual with no ties to anyone or anything except her God. But she had once belonged to a Tent, too. She had not forgotten that feeling of camaraderie, of sameness, of unity. And there was much of that to be found with a fellow squire. Only Yahal knew how greatly intensified this fellowship would become through knighthood.

Except there was something else, too. Something about the way Marrick did things. The way he spoke and treated others. The way he simply was. In his being flowed and oozed a kind of ease that could only be described as natural. While most others in civilized society often jerked about like puppets on a string, unsure of their every move as if they might offend or embarrass, the raven haired squire was always of good cheer. Always so certain, even when he was uncertain. What was the word...hopeful? Unbeatable?

Whatever it was, it drew Oriah to him like bees to honey. She enjoyed watching him work, seeing the sureness of his motions and the competence with which he performed his tasks. A small voice in her head reminded the Benshira that such competence was likely shaped during his slave days, and though the thought brought forth a twinge of sadness she quickly set it aside. Marrick wouldn't want to dwell on such things, so neither would she.

As Mora often said, look behind only when you intend to fight. And there was no fighting to be done. Not on a day like this.

So lost had Oriah become in her thoughts that she hardly noticed how openly she was now staring at her companion. Staring and smiling. Not until, that is, he stared back, his pale gaze surprised at first before growing to reflect her own warmth and longing. Though what it was exactly either longed for she was curiously afraid to admit.

He smiled back at her and the ticks tumbled forward in haphazard disorder. Whilst time had stretched to accommodate Marrick's bold decision, it rushed like an unruly torrent for Oriah. Even after days had passed she would still be unsure of what came first. If he had stared because she had stared, or was it the other way around, or if she had behaved in someway that encouraged the other squire to do what he'd done...it was a mess, but a good one. And mess or no mess only one memory needed to be entirely true:

That Marrick had, in an emboldened moment that fair crackled with unspoken feelings, kissed her softly on the cheek.

Oriah's had closed of their own accord upon the unexpected feelings of lips and breath and gentle heat against her skin that had nothing to do with the small cooking fire. And they would do so every time thereafter that memory returned. Sometimes she could catch a whiff of his warm, clean scent. Other times, the tingle of excitement as his body drew near hers.

She shivered in spite of warmth all around her. For a moment, Oriah lost all control of her limbs and her thoughts as she swam in a sea of bliss, heart pumping more blood than she knew she had. Just a moment. And then the disbelief came crawling back. Did that truly just happen? What did it mean? Was it possible that this was something normal for Marrick to do? A Common expression of friendship?

No, that was stupid. Even the Benshira had to admit. Why she was going through such lengths to deny what was happening, Oriah wasn't quite sure. But she couldn't stop either. It felt as if her feet had been cut from under her and now she was flailing uselessly to hold onto something, anything that still made sense.

When she opened her eyes again, her eyes were filled with even more longing than before. Fiercer and most confused at the same time as well, though Marrick had already moved on to continue their task at hand.

"Aye Love, it's perfect,” he had said, though, in that lilting accent of his. She held onto his approval with no intention of ever forgetting it.

As Marrick busied himself with finding ingredients for their experimental meal, Oriah struggled to think of something to do so as not to look like she was loafing about. She pet Kiter and tugged at some plants before returning to the fire to check on the slowly roasting mushrooms. In spite of her patron's seemingly limitless expertise, the Benshira wasn't much help when it came to plants. The number of things she could identify numbered as many fingers on her hands and that was it. So, she opted to watch over the mushrooms instead, turning them on the stick every now and then to make sure they cooked evenly.

When Marrick returned, he offered her some shoots to smell. Onions, he said they were, and Oriah was ready to agree once she got a whiff of its potent scent. Feeling her eyes water a little, she set the shoots down on the ground and watched her companion set to work. He appeared to enjoy the process so much that the Benshira couldn't help but grin. The elders of her former Tent had often spoke well of men who could cook. That they would make for good husbands and fathers, amongst other things that had to do with hands and labor. It was as blunt as she'd ever heard the older women speak and it both amused and fascinated her to no end. When she was young, Oriah had not understood what they'd been alluding to. Now, after all she'd learned along her travels--and from a harlot named Matthew in particular a few years ago--she was starting to find sense in their claims.

The squire hid her secret amusement well enough as she answered Marrick's innocuous question. "Good, they are turning more gold on the edges," she replied. The words were more sigh than statement as she propped her chin on one hand and turned the roasting stick, eyes completely devoted not to the food she was in charge of cooking.

As she continued observing Marrick work, his demeanor never diminishing in either focus or enthusiasm, Oriah thought about the way he copied her Shiber. He had true potential for getting a decent grip on the language. The Benshira herself had never been anyone's official teacher, but what was going to stop them from trying? A flare of inspiration struck her and she addressed the other squire with more than a little fervor in her tone.

"You speak my tongue quite well, you know," Oriah mused. "Mezeen. That means 'well done' in Shiber."

With a challenging stare not unlike the one she had worn on that night they had danced at the Rearing Stallion, Oriah asked, "Would you like to try and see how much more you can learn?"

[Marrick Corvis]

When the Dark haired squire looked up from his feeble attempt at simmering fish broth, something in the Benshira’s eyes or perhaps in the tenor of her voice when she spoke caught the Kelvic by surprise. It was beginning to feel as though he were a fly caught in a spider’s web. Though, Oriah was neither the spider, nor the web. Truly in Marrick’s heart he felt an intense longing for her, and the reciprocation of that feeling. Which begs the question, does the fly want to be caught and eaten? The answer to his question rolled off the Benshira’s lips like the promise of good food. And indeed the mushroms looked like they were nearing a stage of edibleness. The Kelvic smiled in spite of himself knowing full well that he would have eaten them raw had he been hungry enough. Yet, the desire to experience flavor was one of those dominating forces in the Raven haired squire’s life. There was something else in the Benshira’s body language though, that forced the Kelvic’s head to lilt to one side. She sighed and propped her head up on her hand as she slowly rotated the mushroom on its skewer. He would catch the slightest white of her eyes watching him as she shared her attentions between the cooking food and… him? It wasn’t boredom that made the dancer exhale, but something else. As the myriad of possibilities bombarded the Kelvic’s mind thrilling him to the point at which he licked his upper lip for just a tic before withdrawing it quickly back into his maw. If his hands had not been busy with preparing the soup he’d have slapped his forehead in self-imposed punishment. ‘she’ll jest think yer hungry Marrick. Your lickin yer lips cause yeh can’t wait teh eat that mushroom she’s got. Roight... the mushroom.’ He was trying so hard to focus on the mushroom at the end of Oriah’s skewer that his focus was truly dashed when she mentioned her tongue. He misunderstood at first, only because he envisioned what the Benshira’s tongue might feel like against his own. Only when he realized that she was offering to teach him Shiber did his mind fall back into focused reality. He blinked just a moment as the wall struck him square in his forehead. She seemed genuinely excited about the idea of teaching him, which made the Squire smile in a reciprocation of that genuine sentiment. Her challenging stare only made him want to turn that broad smile into a playful smirk. For a moment he broke eye contact, that little playful smirk dancing across his lips as he stirred the pot of brothy soup. He waved a billowing wave of the soups air into his face and smelled deeply before he sighed a little. “Meh-zeen” Marrick repeated breathily at the tail end of that sigh, trying not to inflect too much of his accent into the phrase. Somehow as he spoke this simple expression, it sounded to him very exotic. It was almost as if Shiber were a warm wind or a summer breeze. “Yeh flatter me, till Oi tarn all sarts of tinted red, love… Aye.” Marrick said with a confident smile. “Oi’d be honored.” For a moment he held a solemn silence as he unwound Oriah’s scarf, and wrapped it about his hand. With all the care the only mother figure in his life had taught him, he grasped his overturned Salet by its tail with his covered hand and moved it out of the fire. He was careful not to let scarf drag too close to the fire. That sweet little one meter by one meter woven wool gesture was just too precious to him. He checked one last time to see if all had cooked well enough with a simple stir of the soup with his dagger. Satisfied with his abominable soup he smiled and rocked back onto his haunches, letting the broth cool a little while he pulled a leg under the other in a casual repose. “N’ what about yerself, love?” The Kelvic said as his eyes narrowed and he stroked the scruff of his chin. The Dark haired squire paused in thought as he held his companions gaze. “What can Oi teach you.” Marrick’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous reminiscent of a child who had just pilfered his first cookie and was about to bite into its warm crumbling deliciousness. “Oi have a number o’ skills. Oi could teach yeh hand teh hand combat. Or perhaps something more whimsical.” Marrick said thoughtfully. “Oi could teach yeh how teh properly stand on yer head!” The Kelvic exclaimed with a laugh. “Or tumble, n’ land on yer feet.” His laugh died to an endearing smile that waxed and waned as his eyes darted between Oriah’s own azure right and left irises. “Oi have many talents.” He said breathily, almost a whisper. He found himself entranced by the Benshira’s eyes. His gaze then spread to include her face the curve of her cheek as she smiled. Or the gentle curve of her lashes as they batted lazily. Almost as if they were trying to waft away his words of entreaty.

[/quote]

[Oriah]

Love. She turned the term of endearment about in her head, not unlike the way she was with the mushroom. Except the turning in her head had quickly escalated into deafening echoes that bounced off the walls of her skull with seemingly no end in mind. Love, love, love, love....

Some distant part of Oriah took obvious note of the commonness in such a nickname. Old matrons used it for unruly little errand boys, stablehands to their favorite horses, fathers to their newborn babes. She even knew full well that Marrick had called Kiter "love" several times in her presence.

But somehow, someway, when he said it to her, it sounded different. He'd used the word several times now. And each time it felt warmer, truer. Like a spell that only grew stronger in its continual weaving. Whether it was just her imagination or....something else...the Benshira could not know right then, but such doubts did nothing to impede in her naive compulsions.

The Benshira was walking a fine line, she knew. These were the very sort of temptations that her elders had spent season after season warning their youths. That Yahal was to come first in all things, their Tent second, and any indulgences of the self would always come last. Yet this...this impossibly tender yet innocent feeling that lay between them...the unending delight that she shared during every tick of his continued presence...it didn't feel wrong. It didn't feel that way at all. The squire did feel some danger in falling too deep to fast--if she hadn't done so already--but it was not the sort of folly to earn Yahal's wrath for. Not that she could sense, in any case.

She responded at last to Marrick's words just a few beats too late for her not to sound momentarily dazed. But she did her best anyway to leave her eccentricities behind. "That I may do, but at least I speak truly," she said, smiling. "And you prove that so every time you speak Shiber. "Mezeen, once again!"

Oriah did so very much enjoy the way he met every challenge with that unbeatable enthusiasm of his. It was heady in its presence, like a perfume she could never tire of. Like so many things she could never tire of.

She gave the mushroom another slow spin and watched as Marrick wrapped her gifted scarf around his hand. Perhaps another may have felt peeved that he used it for something so mundane as cooking, but for Oriah it only brought pleasure. She reveled in the usefulness he found in her present. Because usefulness was, after all, the single most valuable currency out amongst the burning sands.

To the Benshira's surprise, her fellow squire met offer for offer. He wanted to know now if there was anything she desired to learn. As he asked, he rubbed at the scruff around his chin, the rough sound sending a tiny, unexplained shiver down Oriah's spine.

And he spoke of talents...oh, how little Marrick must have known about the shameful depths into which his simple question had plunged her mind. Yes, they were indeed many things Oriah wished to learn from the comely, virile squire that sat beside her. Things like the intentional, prolonged feeling of his touch--not the accidental, fleeting kind that she had been lucky enough thus far to experience--the feeling of his raven hair through her fingers, the taste of his lips...

Before she even knew what she was doing, Oriah slammed an invisible dam onto the flood of unexpected imagination. She was deviating in earnest now. There was no turning back from this, no excuse to cover up the boldness her yearning had acquired. There was only retribution, the paranoid, tradition-bred part of her mind insisted. And there was no punishment or abandonment that came nearly as swift and merciless as Yahal's.

It wasn't rational, she knew. She'd never even heard or seen of Yahal directly shunning one of his believers for desiring someone. Only people and their strict adherence to Yahebah's laws. But there were stories, and with the stories came fear. Oriah wanted desperately to be able to forget them for even just a chime, but that would be impossible. It was woven into the very fabric of her being; there was no undoing in one area that wouldn't unravel the rest. Which was exactly what it felt like to be in Marrick's ceaselessly teasing and doting presence. The young woman was unraveling at the seams and it was all she could to do to hold onto what little familiarities she had left.

But what if...she didn't want to hold on anymore?

It was certainly harder to convince herself that she did as Oriah gazed back at the mischievous glint dancing between Marrick's pale eyes. She was having enough trouble remembering how to breathe.

"I..." I what? What do I want? The Benshira felt her face flush hotly all over again. Curses upon curses! Why was this so confoundingly hard to react to without blushing like some hapless simpleton every time? "I would like...to, um, perhaps..."

Her eyes happened to dart in the direction of Kiter's contently grass-munching form. "...to learn how to ride better."

Idiot. You hate riding.

"Khollus!" Oriah exclaimed, which meant something along the lines of "at last!" in Shiber, as she whisked the mushroom out of the fire and presented its perfectly golden form to Marrick. "The musar is done cooking."

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick smiled at her flattered words of Mezeen, which he was now growing to enjoy the sound of. It sounded strangely romantic and efficient in the way she pronounced it. The phrase seemed to roll off her tongue, the way one might sleepily roll out of bed. Or perhaps the Kelvic’s feelings simply inflected this upon the phrase. He whispered the word back to her in response. “Mezeen.” It already sounded more like the way she said it, but there was still something missing. Almost like he spoke the word flatly. Such a language held a great emotion behind it, something akin to the way water flowed naturally over rocks in a mountain brook. Swiftly, smoothly, and without interruption. As his fellow squire fumbled with her words in answer to his question in regards as to what he could teach her, he smiled sweetly. His eyes ever wandering to the soft curve of her lips, only to dart back to her eyes. Had he been close enough he’d have leaned in and silenced her struggle with a kiss sweet and tender as honey that dripped off the comb. Her answer came at last in a rush and yet the request sent the Kelvic’s filthy little mind into a tail spin if bawdy thoughts that forced his eyes to shut in a less than genuine attempt to silence them. He took a deep breath and quelled a salacious smile that dared try and form upon his lips. In a moment of divine clarity he focused long and hard on the literal meaning of her request, and he envisioned his beautiful companion riding atop a swift steed, the wind whipping at her wavy mop of sand colored hair. “O’ course.” He said at last, his emphasis on the latter of the two words lasted just a little too long. “Oi’m no stable master, or champion o’ the harse, but Oi’d relish the chance teh teach yeh a thing or two.” the Kelvic smiled warmly, though he mentally buried his face in his palms. ‘teach you a thing or two?’ He’d never heard of anything so cliché, and here he was acting the braggart. “Koiter’d teach yeh better than Oi though. She’s a great clever beast.” At the mention of her name the great horse abandoned her tuft of grass and clomped over to where they sat near the fire and nudged the back of Marrick’s head almost as if to say that she knew he was talking about her. The Kelvic chuckled as he reached up and gave the horse a gentle affectionate rub of her jaw and neck. Kiter seemed always certain to be sure to keep her rider in line with a well-timed nudge, nicker, or grunt. So much so in fact it always left the Kelvic wondering just how smart the great beast was. She was a magical creature none the less. At least to him. When Oriah exclaimed a new word to Marrick he mouthed it quietly to himself. “Khoolllooz” he almost hummed. He was about to ask her what it meant when she said that the ‘Musar’ was done cooking. The first one was a mystery but Musar had to mean mushroom. “Mus-har, means mushroom?” he asked, a look of curiosity in his eyes as Kiter strolled off to a new tuft of grass to munch on. The Benshiras response of Mezeen and the look of pride in her eye could only mean he had been right. “Oi hope Oi didn’ butcher the ward too badly.” He said as he carefully picked up the now steaming hot salet of soup, and clamored his way to his companion’s side. He sighed happily as he eyed the little morsel, and reveled in being so close to the Benshira. The fire crackled softly as he sidled up next to her. He laid the salet full of soup down in a shallow divot in the ground to keep it from spilling. “Oi’m doyin teh troy this ‘Mus-har’ but what does Kholloos mean?” he said giving the soup one last stir with his knife before he wiped it clean. He gave the mushroom on Oriahs skewer a go over, and listened to her explanation. “Every ward yeh speak in that beautiful tongue o’ yers always leaves me feelin curious.” He said with a sly little smile. With a short sheering of his knife, the Kelvic sliced off a nibble of the dark brown little fungus. He held it in his bare hand and gave it a furtive sniff. “Well, it smells loike chicken of a sart. Naught truly. Its missin somethin, yet its all its own sart’a theng.” He gave his lovely companion a look of longing and popped the little bit of mushroom in his mouth. “Roight, then.” Marrick said as he chewed. He rolled the bit of mushroom over and over in his mouth his eyes rolling about in consideration. “Mmm, it’s a lot loike it smells. Naught quite chicken. Theirs a sart’a zest to it. Oi moight cook it in oil next toime.” Marrick pursed his lips and squinted his eyes in thought as he sucked at the cooked mushroom. With one final act he swallowed. “mmm, delicious. Oi’ll add it teh moy list o’ thengs edible in the wood. Moight want teh wait a bit teh see if Oi keel over n’ Doie though.” He said with a chuckle. Like a cautious ferret or a suspicious squirrel, Marrick touched the side of his Salet Helm testing it for heat. It was still a little hot so he wrapped the base with the scarf again and took a sip of the warm broth. “Mm Naught bad eoither.” He said after a short swallow. Certain his own creation was edible he offered the brothy soup to Oriah. “Drenk up.” He said with a smile as he handed it off to her. “Oi shall have teh remember teh pack a kit the next toime Oi come a’ visittin.” Marrick leaned back and watched his horse a moment contemplating his training, Oriah, and the life he now had. “Oi’m so grateful. Lucky even.” He said after a long pause. His eyes searched a far off place, perhaps in his memory, or a vision of his future. “Naught a slave anymore, save teh moy duties. Oi’ve made a few friends. N’ Oi havn’t even been about a whole year here in Syliras. So different.” Marrick laid back comfortably on the ground and peered up at the sky, his icy disks mirroring the cool blue. “Oi apologoize. Oi’m losin track o’ thengs.” He said with a smile. “No ill effects. In fact oi’d say yeh could use this mushroom as a staple if the need arose.” Marrick rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes in thought. The pleasant crackle of the fire tickling his thoughts.

[Oriah]

When Marrick agreed to her request, as Oriah knew he would, the Benshira nodded and stared intently at the mushroom. All she could think about was the feeling of his strong, capable arms wrapped around hers as they rode two to a saddle, and it was doing no favors for her complexion.

It was silly. She was silly. Oriah knew this on so many levels it was almost painful. But, blessed Yahal, she just could not stop.

Thankfully, her fellow squire was busy giving Kiter a few, affectionate rubs, which allowed the lass some time to get her imagination under control. When she dared to look up again, Oriah was greeted by the familiar yet no less charming sight of Tiaden and rider. They were so open, so earnest in their fondness for one another. The way Marrick lavished attention on Kiter made his opinions no mystery; she was a wondrous being in his eyes, and he in her's.

The Benshira tried to dare herself to think that, perhaps, she and Marrick might be the same way. Tried. But the idea brought about emotions so confoundedly intense she had to shrink away from it like a moth against flames. How something could be so frightening in its all-consuming nature yet so appealing at the same time, Oriah was afraid she'd never understand.

There was little time to dwell, however, once she had Marrick's attention on food and Shiber. Ever curious and ever industrious, the other squire was quick to repeat her careless slips of the tongue and bring over his portion of their improvised lunch. Oriah hadn't intended for those words to come out, but she was realizing more and more that something about Marrick's presence was to blame. He made her feel so comfortable. So at home. What a strange effect for another mortal to possess...she could scarce make sense of it, let alone put a name to it.

"You are good for first time learning," Oriah assured, amused at his almost childlike eagerness to absorb new things.

When he asked about Khollus, though, the Benshira found some of her embarrassment returning. "Ahh, um...that word..." She cleared her throat a bit before continuing sheepishly, "that word is kind of like the Common...like shyke."

Suffice to say, it wasn't a word that her elders would have approved of her using.

Not that Oriah could bring herself to care much anymore. The close proximity of her raven haired companion was starting to make her feel heady again and it was growing hard to focus. He was stirring the soup in a metal helmet, which, as ridiculous as that might have sounded in a different scenario, was oddly endearing and practical for the occasion.

And his flattery...Oriah was convinced she had said just about the most graceless handful of sentences in the history of both Common and Shiber, but Marrick seemed not to mind. He was genuinely enamored with the language of her people and that made her internally squirm even more.

What was he talking about now? Oh, right, yes. Mushrooms. Focus on the musar, must focus! Definitely smells something like chicken, but missing something? What does tha--oh, Yahal, his mouth...

Right before Marrick ate his little sliver of cooked fungus, he had given Oriah a very direct, very yearnful sort of look. And then he popped the morsel into his mouth, and it was all the Benshira could do not to insist he do it again. She felt right proper mad for thinking the way she was, but Oriah couldn't help enjoying the way her companion ate. His lips were always an attractive part of anything he did, but it was the way Marrick tasted the mushroom, chewed and sucked and considered its array of flavors, that made the act itself so appealing. She liked the way his pale eyes moved about as he savored and reflected, and how the muscles along his neck moved as he worked his jaws. The skin there looked so warm and inviting, and knowing how he smelled...

Oriah's eyelids drooped as she smiled listlessly to herself, wits entirely addled by a crackling fire, good food, and unrivaled company.

The sound of Marrick's chuckling shattered her contented haze. Thinking his amusement was directed toward her, the Benshira panicked. She tried desperately to remember what he had just said not five ticks ago. Something about edibles...and deliciousness...and probably nothing about her infatuated state.

For the hundredth time that day, Oriah couldn't help feeling a little bit foolish. But foolish as she felt, she couldn't say that the whole thing wasn't splendid, either.

And what could be more wondrous than a helmet full of steaming, aromatic soup and a rare mushroom to be tasted? Taking Marrick's lead, she slipped the piece of not-chicken in her mouth and savored the taste, then took a hearty sip of the broth.

"Mmm," she nodded, grinning. "It is good! Both soup and musar."

As they ate in mutual enjoyment, the other squire began speaking of how lucky he was not to be a slave anymore. Though she knew he had not meant to elicit such reactions, Oriah could feel the sober weight of his past creeping back again. How utterly horrific it must have been to live a life as a slave...how utterly broken Priah would have been...

Setting aside the cooked mushroom so she could accept Marrick's helmeted offering, the stared deeply into the simmering broth. She felt the odd compulsion to drown in it, to forget the ghost that haunted her every where she went. But if she did, then it would mean leaving her fellow squire behind, and that alone was enough to toss such an idea clear out the window.

She guzzled down a huge mouthful of soup and set the helmet back down with a satisfied sigh. Oriah wiped her mouth with the ends of her sleeve."I feel lucky, too," she responded, not trusting herself to say more, then settled beside Marrick to look up at the glimpses of pale blue peeking through the forest's vast, dappled canopy. Feeling absurdly warm and content, with no duties to be finished, no wilderness to combat, and plenty of hot broth swimming about in her belly, she leaned her head against her companion's shoulder without so much as a tick's worth of hesitance.

"Mez'n viyen," she murmured, unable to think of anything more perfect than right here, right now. "Life is good."

[Marrick Corvis]

‘Khollus’ Marrick contemplated the word and laughed to himself silently. His smile a little spark of joy waiting to ignite a larger fire. He listened contentedly and contemplated having another guzzling slop of ration reinforced broth when out of nowhere it seemed Oriah lay down next to him. She echoed his sentiment though for another reason. Perhaps it was something else but the dark haired squire hoped desperately that she referred to him. He was just about to slap himself mentally for selfishly wanting when she nestled her head against his shoulder. For a marvelous and precious tick, the whole of existence stopped for the Kelvic. He felt an intense heat fill his belly, and seize his chest. His cheeks felt warm, and his neck hot. The closest thing to love like this he had ever felt had been a betrayal. But this, this felt… Pure-real-solid-substantive. All the words he could have placed to it fell short of just how absolutely real it felt. This little bit of contact made the Kelvic’s breath catch a moment, before he took a deep breath and plunged willingly face first into the warm feelings that might well drown him. She had not hesitated, and he would not fight it, no far from it. When she uttered a new phrase he whispered it back in imitation, though it came out differently. “Meze n Yoiyien.” He fumbled. Though his mind was not on perfecting her tongue. At least not where language was concerned. She was so close to him and his eyes had locked their intense icy disks upon her serene face. “Yes,” he said absent mindedly in response to her statement. He slipped his arm under her head, giving her a softer resting place than the roots, or stone of the ground. But that didn’t feel quite right. A boldness took him and he squirmed closer still, coaxing her head into a more comfortable position against the solid flesh of his chest. It felt so pleasant. Their warmth mingled together and Marrick felt almost drowsy. The fire crackling, warm food in his belly, more waiting to be eaten. A lazy afternoon awaited them, at least he hoped. Nothing was ever for certain in Mizahar. Accept perhaps this. He could not resist the urge to bury his nose in the sandy mop of Oriah’s hair and he breathed deeply. She smelled of dirt, sweat, and green things. Likely just as anyone who had spent months in the wild might. It filled the Kelvic with a wild hunger for adventure and exploration. He felt his heart beat wildly, and his breath caught again as the unbridled excitement that filled him, choked him. She might have looked into his eyes for another reason, but Marrick knew not why. It didn’t matter. When their faces were but inches away and their breath mingled for precious ticks he felt a pleasant tickling sensation goad him forward. The last bit of apprehension dissolved with a lick of his lips. The Kelvic blinked his eyes lazily, leaned in and kissed the azure eyed Benshira gently on the softness of her open mouth. For a glorious tick, Marrick felt the wetness of her lips. How soft they were, and warm. He felt the rush of her breath. She tensed, and he pulled away. The Kelvic couldn’t tell if she had liked it or not. She didn’t slap him or run away, though all he could think of was how desperately he wanted to steal another press of her lips. He kissed her again. This time more certain. His heart pulsed with pure adrenaline and he felt almost as it might burst from his chest in an ill devised escape attempt. He could not get enough. He drank fully of her lips, ensuring his breath came in and out through his nose. When their lips at last parted, he kept his eyes closed and an incredulous smile hung on his lips. He could not laugh, instead he simply exhaled in satisfaction similar as one who might have just had a good stretch, or just finished a good meal after eating nothing but dry rations for days. They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, though it was likely only a precious handful of ticks. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and said softly. “Aye, Mez’in Yiyen.” He said, trying hard to say it correctly. “Life is good.”

[Oriah]

She felt him move his arm and unconsciously lifted her head a little so Marrick could re-position himself. But then the other squire scooted even closer, and every muscle on Oriah's body froze.

And just like that, her head was resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. At some he leaned in to bury his nose and lips in her hair. It sent tingles down her spine, and for one, agonizing moment, their hearts were beating wildly out of sync at the same time.

The Benshira may not have known much on a first hand basis what happened between men and women, but if this wasn't leaps and bounds past simple friendship, well then Yahal could smite her where she lay.

Or not. Preferably anything but that.

It didn't fail to escape Oriah that the only reasons why the very idea of feeling her God's wrath wasn't downright terrifying were one, she knew Yahal wasn't cruel. And two, it still failed to feel like they were doing anything wrong. The squire did, however, suffer a spasm of chagrin at having so carelessly involved her God in what was essentially a joke. Since when had she grown this loose with her religious exaggerations?

Emboldened by Marrick's recent gestures, the Benshira decided to ask him right then and there how he felt about...all of this. Whatever it was. What it had to be. But no sooner had she looked up and lost herself a little in the pale clarity of his eyes did Oriah have her questioned answered before she'd even asked it.

The world fell away. All of her doubts, all of her hesitations found themselves put on hold as she felt his lips meet hers. They were infinitely softer than she'd imagined. Parts of his rough, budding beard tickled against her skin, making for an unexpectedly pleasant contrast. And he was warm...so warm it felt like his breath and heat were about to swallow her whole. Wrap her up and never let her go. Oriah found herself having no objections to this, as she was ready to follow Marrick to the ends of Hai and back if that was what it took to stay by his side.

The realization burned away some of the fog of heedless passion. She tensed for just a fraction of a tick, suddenly unsure where everything stood anymore. Herself, her God, knighthood, Marrick...

But that was all it took to break the enchantment. For only a breath. Then his lips were pressing back onto hers and this time neither squire held on to tentativeness. A strange, breathless sound came out of her throat, so foreign she almost didn't recognize it as her own, as Oriah returned Marrick's kiss with all that she could.

By the time this second kiss had ended, she felt dizzy with disbelief and was drowning beneath unprecedented waves of...shock? Bliss? Desire? Oriah could barely tell one from the other. Her vision had grown rather hazy and she was still trying to recollect her thoughts when Marrick sighed. Glancing up, she saw a satisfied smile stretched across his handsome features. Her heart did a violent flip-flop. Nothing had ever looked quite so attractive in her life.

It was her turn to sigh contentedly as Marrick tightened his arms around her. How could she ever feel more safe, more at peace, and more complete and thrilled and confused and still ludicrously happy all at the ame time than right here in this very moment? For a good while there was only silence. A tranquil, gratified silence. The kind that usually only happened when there was nothing else to do or say, because everything was perfect the way it was.

Oriah heard the soft words echoed through her companion's voice and found no will to disagree. But all good things, even one as divine as their morning shared together, had to come to an end. She'd tried not to dwell on this immutable fact for as long as possible. Perhaps it was this sliver of dread that spurred her to break the flawless silence.

Something about perfection frightened her...things that were too good, or she was too attached to. The ghost of her lost twin hovered eternally in the back of her mind, no matter how many times the young woman tried to banish it.

"Marrick?" Oriah all but whispered. It felt like she was trespassing on holy ground.

For the span of a breath, the squire was torn. Should she tell him this was her first kiss? That it was wonderful and magical and terrifying and confusing? That she hadn't the faintest idea what she was doing or what they were getting themselves into? Maybe he had words to comfort her with. Marrick seemed, for lack of better words, much more experienced and confident.

But, at the last tick, Oriah changed her mind. She chewed the inside of her lip for a bit before saying instead, "I think something is burning..."