The atmosphere changed as the night went on, as it was often wont to do. Deltan proved an able student, one that wanted to learn just as much as he wanted to receive. Mirian herself was certainly not the most learned of lovers, but she knew enough to teach him of the common spots––side of the ribs, crook of the neck and generally around the head area were where she knew her way around best––and he quickly became inquisitive and explorative on his own, experimenting and taking leaps of faith. The longer they went, the more it paid off, and by the time they lay themselves down to sleep in earnest he had been giving as good as he received. As she waited for sleep to claim her partner, Mirian felt a warmth, something that was made a bit of gratitude––rarely did anyone pay such attention to her own desires––and also a bit of pride. She couldn’t help but feel like she had succeeded in her own role of being a teacher, and it lessened her regret at what she had still yet to do.
He had drawn up against her, and she had turned against him in response––both to let him know that she was more than happy with how the night had gone, but also to keep him from curling around her. She managed to keep his arm the only thing holding her down.
She was weary, and slumber tried time and again to creep up on her and take her along. She fought it back at every turn, and Deltan himself helped somewhat; he seemed to be in a state of almost-consciousness, and every now and again his fingers would move over her skin, accompanied by vague noises that sometimes contained what she could almost imagine was her name. When that happened she would use the contact to remain awake, until, eventually, his movements and murmurs grew quieter and farther apart, then stopped altogether and left him with the even breathing of a deep sleep.
Mirian was slow when she slipped from his arms, unwilling to wake him. She moved inch by inch, gently scrunching up the blankets to make a mound enough for him to rest his arm around. With luck, it would be enough to stave of the realization that she had left, at least enough for her to actually do so.
She placed her feet gently on the floorboards, staying to the edges of the room where they would be quietest. Slowly, carefully, she collected her skirt, blouse and shawl and slipped them on. Then she reached for her quarry on the floor: the shortsword and the coinpurse. The scabbard had been separated from the belt when she had first taken it off him, so she didn’t have to worry about metal dragging noisily across the floor as she set it against the wall. Then came the coinpurse, which was trickier. It was filled with mizas that would rub against each other if she picked it up too quickly, and so instead she just dragged the soft material across the floor towards her. Then came her shoes, which she was not so foolish as to put on just yet––she tied the laces together so she could hold them with one finger and wrap the rest of her grip around the shortsword while her other hand made itself busy with the coinpurse. She grasped the pouch as tightly as she could, bringing the cloth taut around the mizas and discouraging errant noise, and then, with slow, careful, barefooted steps that halted whenever the floor creaked, she crept to the door, gently opened the latch and slipped outside.
She remained as quiet as she could as she made her way to the upstairs tavern, growing faster with each step; she was very well aware that her complete lack of real stealth ability could have brought him to awareness with every creak she made, and so she wanted to leave the Drunken Fish as quickly as possible; she took a seat on one of the open area chairs to shove on her shoes, then forced herself to be calm as she walked to the stairs. Running would certainly wake up somebody.
There was one person at the bar downstairs, half-asleep but able to blink once at Mirian as she passed. Her room had been paid for earlier, and there was no reason for her not to leave, even at this hour, so he let her be. She only allowed herself to heave a sigh of relief when she’d set foot outside. She’d done it. Mirian clutched her prizes to her chest.
“Welcome to Sunberth, Deltan.”
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Mirian took the sword and purse and dashed off into the pre-morning darkness. |
by Deltan Colari on October 18th, 2014, 10:43 pm 
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