The half-Drykas was halted in her tracks as the Chaktawe's gaze fell towards her, stunned. That intense skepticism, those black eyes, almost unblinking. In that chime she let a staggering man pass by her, between the two.
For that single moment in her life, Rufio was at a loss for what she might say to another living soul. A faint smile lingered on her lips, thoughtful and warm, mysterious.
Startled then—her tension broken as a rough hand grasped her right arm, right beneath her shoulder and shoved her crudely out of the way of its owner. A burly, hairy, smelly man, his beard sticky with fermented hops, and dull eyes.
"Oi!" Called Alar'ck, who had watched Rufio be captured so utterly by the stranger to their lands with a meddling curiosity, and took offense at the handling of his cousin.
Louka the lanky and soulful turned, a horn tipped mid-guzzle, to watch the athletic, charming Alar'ck saunter over to the drunkard and grip his collar with mean fists. Louka's mouth fell in dismay and he shot a meaningful look at Rufio—trouble.
Rufio felt her thoughts snap to and her imagination peaked with a solution to nullify the violent tensions sparking between the horse-lords.
"Alar'ck, there you are, I've been looking all over for you! Grandmother Raen heard from- uh-Pearl, yes, Pearl at the River Flower. It is contagious, after all-"
Hesitation skittered through the drunkard's gaze and he stumbled backwards warily, out of Alar'ck's grip, and out of his breath-range. Rufio wide-eyed Alar'ck, imploring him to play along.
"Ah. Right-o. Good to know. Guess I should keep my hands to myself then, eh, wouldn't want anyone else to catch this. Did, uh, Pearl say if it spreading would affect, well, you know- certain parts I'd rather keep?"
Alar'ck winked at the drunk, whose wariness turned to horror, and he scarpered like a rabbit chased by rapid wolves to wash his hands in the pail outside.
Louka slumped in visible relief, while Alar'ck laughed heartily, clapping his cousin Ru over the shoulders, almost knocking the ale from her hands.
"You always have some way of talking yourself out of trouble, Rufy, ah." Amused, impressed.
Rufio chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. "Look, Tal'ck would murder you if you started another brawl, so play nice. Besides, you ruin my night and I'll do something even worse, mm-kay?" Threat, playful.
Alar'ck grinned, full of sly charm as he slipped the ale from Rufio's grasp and slunk past her to sit opposite the intriguing Chaktawe. With confidence emanating powerfully in his masculine poise, and in his warm, easy smile, he signed—greetings, pleasant evening, beauty, awe—sliding an ale across to Akasja—offer, gift, welcome. "Do you speak Pavi, beautiful?"
Rufio felt irritation flash across her dark gaze as she watched, though she didn't know where it had came or why she felt so.
Louka brought a horn filled with ale to her and chuckled.
"I have a feeling that was all a tough-talk show, Rufy."
Rufio took the drink from Louka and sighed.
Louka, meanwhile, noticed a fair-haired Thymara walk into the tent. The way the firelight melted across her complexion softly, dancing in her intricate braids and bringing alight her azure eyes made his heart flutter in a fleeting moment of pure admiration. He choked on his ale and spilled half of it down his shirt.
