[The Nimble Thimble] Walkabout

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

20th Spring, 512 A.V. The Nimble Thimble was a stop for Issima's sake, the weaver given her head in a store that stocked things she would want and need for her craft. While she perused the wares with her keen eye and savvy mind, he looked for needles thick and strong enough for his leatherwork, but always keeping an eye or both of them on her. It seemed like it had taken so long to realize that he loved her, so long to get over whatever minor taboos there were as he had been almost courting her cousin Menali, and so long to finally make their marriage solid in the eyes of Cheva, that he would not lose her now. Not ever, if he could manage it. This was the first time since Riverfall that they had been among a greater amount of people than there little, would-be pavilion. Even Karjin had only been a sight on the horizon from their camp. He and Ronan had gone into the city for supplies; Denen, Leto, and Issima had tended the camp in the meantime. There was a vague sort of terror that he would lose her in the crowd, but then that was silly. They were tied by love, by goddess, and by the Drykas Web. He would not lose her. But he stepped up beside her to peer at what had her interest. "See anything good?" he asked in Pavi, not wanting the merchants in town to understand their talk for obvious reasons. He was mostly guileless, but he was also learning to be a wise leader, lesson by slow lesson.

[Issima]

The small cabin appealed to Issima from the moment she crossed the threshold. It smelled pleasant, of yarn and fabric. The fire burning cast a comforting, welcoming sort of glow across everything, and it was quiet. The best part, of course, were the rows and rows of colors. Yarns of many different weights and bases, as well as bolts of fabric and every sort of accessory she could imagine needing. Had it really been so long since she sat in the beautiful Cyphran sunlight and worked with gifted hands to create a thing of beauty out of something so simple? Part of her missed the simplicity of those days, even when the weight of her sorrow weighing her down. But, with her fingers skimming a brightly hued skein of yarn, Sam was close to her again. And, as the young bride glanced up towards her handsome husband, she felt a warmth that burned away that homesickness. This really was a great adventure that they were on, and perhaps the only one they'd have, since new life already swelled so proudly within her womb and she knew that more children would follow. She enjoyed the nights spent in his arms far too much to resist him, and Issima supposed that only the admission of more wives into his pavilion would ever tear her away from those hands, so skilled in so very many ways, from those lips. She'd give him a hundred children, if he wanted them all. So long as it meant falling asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat and waking to his rustling each morn. "Yes," she replied simply, but he would know her well enough by now to see the light in her eyes. It really was a special pleasure to be here and, due to the circumstances of their journey, she'd been unable to spend any real measure of time preparing for the little one currently jostling about in her belly. "Perhaps some yarn, and some knitting needles. He'll need clothes, I suppose," she said with a fond smile, one hand falling to rest on the protrusion of her stomach. She glanced back, then, to the wall of shelves where a myriad of colors were on offer. Issima gravitated towards the wool, since it would serve best to keep baby dry and warm. "What's your favorite color, Sam?" she asked, almost whimsically. The past months had been rather chaotic, and it hadn't been often that they were given an opportunity to have such an apparently mundane and yet somehow intimate conversation. It was almost surreal, picking out things for their new baby.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He smiled at her, glad they had come to a place where they could rest until they needed to be back on the road to Cyphrus. They had delayed so long, he wondered if they oughtn't stay until the baby was born. But then it would be a Drykas babe, and would grow used to traveling from the instant of its birth. Issima too was built of stern stuff, inured to the rigors of travel. He put his hand over hers where it touched her gentle bump, then touched her dear face. But at the question he laughed. A Drykas laugh was too loud for Avanthal, but he was used to wide open spaces. "Blue, of course," he said, being a proud member of the Sapphire Clan. But he would buy her yarns of any color she wished, so pleased was he that they were bound now, and anticipating the birth of their child almost as much as she.