"Ballad of the Morning" Log Date: 10/23, 11/9/99 Log Cast: Faanshi, Lyre, Nasri, Ambriel Log Intro: In the middle of her second summer in Haven, the young shudra Faanshi has found herself beset by a host of different challenges and startling new concepts. The great plague that struck the city has led to her acquiring a teacher in the use of her healing magic... and a second mage has become aware of her as well, leading the halfbreed maiden to marvel at the potential good fortune in having _two_ teachers. The Varati people have celebrated Holi, enlightening the wondering shudra to the marvelous ways that their ordered way of life turns upside-down when the birthday of the Hawk of Heaven is at hand. But perhaps most challenging to the meek and mild Faanshi is a second connection that the plague allowed her to make -- a connection with a Mongrel bard who seems most drawn to her indeed, and who seems to seek her out when she least expects him.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Sunday, June 16, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Full Season: Summer Weather: Clouds Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* Palisade and North - Haven Some have likened the Varati home to a geode--rough and plain on the outside, while opulence and splendor lie within. Certainly the first part of that analogy is true. The only hint that these buildings house the more prominent members of Varati society are their size. Massive structures loom on either side of the street, crafted from brick, marble, granite, and even metal. And here, also, is the grand embassy of the Varati. Only shaping magic could have created such a structure, for it gives the impression of having grown out of the earth itself. Like the others, its decoration is minimal, yet flowing curves and the use of obsidian and marble make such ornamentation unnecessary. Flanked by stone pillars, the entranceway is constantly guarded by sentinels who may as well be stone themselves, so humorless are they. Only guests of the kingdom and ambassadors from other realms may pass within. A gate leads out of the city to a road that eventually winds into the distant, northern mountains, though few ever dare venture that far. Contents: Kosha Lyre Obvious exits: Atesh-Gah Streets Gate The hour is an early one, to be sure, that time of the infant morning when sunlight is not yet spilling over the horizon, but when darkness is nevertheless beginning to lessen. Much of the city of Haven is beginning to go to sleep, while much of the rest is beginning to stir drowsily from its slumber. Still, the hour seems to make no impact upon the ever-vigilant Agni-Haidar who keep watch at the gates of Atesh-Gah -- and on this day, the early hour seems to make very little impact as well upon the slender figure who is let out through the gates along with her loyal hound loping at her side. Perhaps she will say her prayers to Ushas this morning in the quiet of the city gardens, Faanshi thinks as she peeks up and down the street outside the Varati embassy. And in the gray gloom that surrounds the city, it can be difficult to pick out details in the shadowy regions near walls and buildings. As such, when the tallish mongrel man straightens from his post across the street from Atesh-Gah, it may come as a bit of a surprise. His dark cloak is tucked securely around him, but it slips aside as he watches the slim form of Faanshi depart with a white flash of teeth in the dark. He calls out softly, "Faanshi. Good morning." Lyre walks a bit closer, easing the stiffness from his muscles with a bit of a sigh. He isn't as young as he used to be, and even a young man might have trouble standing against a wall for hours on end. The response from the girl and the response from the dog are simultaneous. Kosha gives a little startled hop and bark -- but then registers the scent of the man and the timbre of his voice, and alarm drains out of his stance as quickly as it had come. Faanshi, in the meantime, utters a breathless cry, whirling in the direction of the husky baritone hail; her eyes go wide above her veil, and when she manages to rally her wits her own greeting is thunderstruck. "Lyre...!" The bard chuckles, a warm smile causing his eyes to crinkle just a bit as saunters over to the young shudra. "You are looking as lovely as ever today, Faanshi." From within the folds of his cloak, Lyre produces a long-stemmed wildflower, its light purple petals curled lightly, and holds it out in a simple offering. "For you." With a rakish grin he asks, "Did you miss me?" Now that he's realized that this shadow that's approached is someone familiar, Kosha sets to the business of sniffing Lyre all over to insure that his scent is indeed still the same -- and hopefully to coerce a good head-scritching out of the bard. Faanshi is not nearly so forward, however. Her gaze shoots towards her feet at the compliment, but the flower slid into her line of vision coaxes her attention up again... well, partly up. Enough to catch that grin, which fills her with deep consternation as she remembers all over again a number of thoughts that have been haunting her incessantly since her last encounter with this man. "Yes," she blurts tinily, "yes... I-I missed you... very much! I wanted to ask you about the songs, but I did not know how to find you... and then, and then Holi came, and everyone was so busy, and I-I needed to help clean up everything during the Festival... and..." One of her hands comes up off the basket she's cradling against her, touching that purple blossom in hesitant wonder. She concludes in that same small voice, risking a peek up over the top of her veil, "I missed you..." Lyre continues to hold the blossom out as Faanshi touches it, giving it a little encouraging wiggle, "I am glad...I missed you, too." His voice is gentle, as if he's half-worried that he'll scare Faanshi off. "I am sorry it has taken so long for me to come find you again, but I, too, have been busy. I have finished your songs, though. I had thought it would be appropriate for them to be sung in the Rialto in their honor. Would you like that?" Nasri passes between the massive pillars flanking the entrance to Atesh-Gah and joins you on the street. Nasri has arrived. A figure comes out of the Atesh-Gah gate, crosses the street, and ducks into one of the alleyways. Nasri travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North. Nasri has left. Timorously the maiden curls her fingers around the flower, her gaze settling on it as if she isn't entirely certain what to do with it -- even as a strange sharp feeling courses through her. This isn't the first time Faanshi's been given a flower, though the last time involved the giver shaping it into a bracelet for her. Reminded of yet another individual she'd befriended who has vanished out of her life, the shudra girl swallows hard behind her veil and struggles with her ability to speak. Words are not the issue -- oh, aye, she can think of at least fifteen different things she wants to say to this Mongrel bard before her, and the unfamiliar flood of thoughts and concepts stuns her even more than the flower he's gently pressed into her hand. "Yes," she finally squeaks, her sari-shrouded head bobbing fervently. That's all she manages to say, as her gaze creeps up inch by inch to find more of Lyre's face. With the faintest of smiles, the bard lifts his hand to lightly brush his fingertips across Faanshi's cheek, "Good. Then it shall be done, once a day, for a sevenday, in the honor of those who have passed on." Lyre aims his speech downward, used to speaking to the top of Faanshi's head. When her eyes lift a bit more and actually meet his, he stops talking. Chiefly because his tongue seems to have gotten all tangled up all of a sudden. He clears his throat softly and adds, gruffly, "You've been well?" He drops his hand back to his side, fidgeting very slightly. Much to the disgust of Kosha, it does not appear that either of these two-footed ones are going to be scritching him. The dog's tail droops, but he is a plucky young dog, and he shakes off this woeful lack of attention by parking himself on his haunches at Faanshi's side, keeping a sharp eye on her immediate surroundings. For once, though, the healer maiden is oblivious to her devoted hound's presence. The abrupt cessation of her breath at the brush of Lyre's fingers along her veiled cheek sends another bolt of anxiety winging through her slender frame, and she can't find words for a moment or two. She must settle for bobbing her head again. Then, once she actually remembers to breathe, speech returns along with the intake of air: "Yes... I... am not sick very often! My duties are bearable, and I have healed some people in Bordertown... and I h-have spoken with Imphada Kiera and the Amir-al, and... Holi happened, too..." Did she mention that already? Surely she did... Lyre listens with rapt attention as Faanshi speaks, nodding just a little here and there to acknowledge her words, "Holi? You mean, I missed the opportunity to see you without a veil?" He actually sounds acutely disappointed by that. He brushes his fingers against her cheek again, lips curling into a smile, "I fear I shall just have to wait until next year for such a prize. It brightens my heart, though, to know that you have been well." With a crooked grin he casts a glance up at the brightening sky, now beginning to be highlighted with pinks and oranges. "It is almost dawn, beloved. I would not keep you from your prayers." At those initial words, Faanshi is struck with the realization that she would remove her veil for this man, without hesitation; in fact, her hand with the flower begins to move upward towards that concealing curtain of blue, before she recalls that that hand, along with her other, is occupied holding something. It occurs to her then that Lyre seems to know what Holi is. And _then_ all over thoughts are driven right out of her head at the endearment she is called -- even the thought that as the sky grows lighter, it would behoove her to get to a place where she can watch the sunrise and light her fire to Ushas. Her eyes were already wide; now, they're positively round. "Wh... what?" That single word, escaping her, is so soft that a pair of less attentive ears might miss it. The Mongrel in question seems to have a somewhat startled look on his features, too, since he certainly hadn't intended to add that particular endearment to his words. Lyre stops, blinking just a bit, and a look of bemusement crosses his features. After a moment he smiles just a bit, a little wry, a little tender, "I said, it is almost dawn, beloved. You have prayers." He looks down at her and smiles again, like the breaking dawn. "The Lady of Morning would miss your smile if you did not greet her, I think." Prayers. Yes. Prayers. She needs to pray to Ushas. But all at once it seems to Faanshi that it is also equally urgent that she free up a hand, for she absolutely must also determine whether she's dreaming. With trembling fingers she slips the purple wildflower into her basket, then pinches her own arm, gently. She feels it... but this seems insufficient proof. The hand rises further, venturing for the face of the bard. If she is not dreaming, then perhaps Lyre is ill, to be saying such a word to her -- and never mind that her magic lies quiescent. Fluttering like the wings of a small golden bird, her fingers reach for his cheek, then for his brow, seeking heat in his skin. "You... called me beloved," she blurts, stunned. "Wh-why did you call me that?" "Because, dear one, I am a man of words. Though I cannot give you anything, I can at least tell you how I feel." Lyre says simply, a smile coming to his lips at the touch of your hand, though a ruddy flush darkens his cheeks. "Does it upset you, to hear me say it?" One warm hand lifts to trace the edge where silk meets skin upon your face, roughened by labor and plucking at the strings of his craft. "For if it upsets you, I will not speak of it again..." "You barely know me!" the maiden breathes then, feeling her trembling increasing even as her hand reports that aye, you are indeed _here_. Aye, your skin holds no more warmth than it should. And as your features grow slowly more discernible in the waxing light she stares up at you, frightened and enthralled struggling for understanding all at once. It makes for a profound confusion in those summergreen eyes, and a trembling, too, in the voice from behind the veil. "H-how... how is it possible... that you could..." In his smile are the remains of his own confusion, and, with a rueful smile he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know, Faanshi. All I know is that when I am with you, I do not need to sing -- my heart does it for me." Lyre takes a breath and expels it in a rough sigh. "If I could explain it, I would be a much better poet than I am. Ever since I first saw you, something in me wouldn't let me stay away, wouldn't let me give up. And I haven't even seen your face." By now, Faanshi is dimly aware that her hands are shaking so badly that she fears she will drop her basket, and her heart pounds with such force that she can almost hear it even above the noise of the slowly rousing street around her. Her fingertips shy back from your cheek, but not far; her hand freezes there in mid-air, as though she has forgotten how to lower it. "Your heart..." _Sings?_ she wants to ask, but her thoughts are churned into turmoil now, and without thinking she skitters to the next thing that occurs to her. A reasonably safe thing. "I... yes, I-I must pray... but..." She cannot leave you, not now. Green eyes turn vivid with entreaty, as she pleads, "W-will you come with me? To the park, w-where I can see the sunrise... light the sacred fire?" Lyre speaks in a voice roughened by emotion. "I would be honored." He bends a bit and lightly takes hold of the basket, "May I carry this for you? It would bring me joy." He is curiously subdued for him; there is not much teasing in his voice, though the everpresent touch of laughter does not go away. Instead he is quiet, as if his own emotions have brought him to a more thoughtful state of mind, though it does not lack for tenderness. Ambriel steps through the gates to the north and enters Haven. Ambriel has arrived. Lyre's hand's movement rouses the maiden, just a little, enough to let her nod earnestly and swiftly. "Yes," comes her soft awestruck reply; with that, she yields the basket to him. It's not large, but it is well-packed and weighty. Left with both her hands free, Faanshi draws back a step or two, thoroughly flustered yet unwilling to move too far away. "This way..." And then it occurs to her: the Mongrel bard seem to know so much. Surely he knows a simple thing like where the park is! But just in case she gestures southward with her shaking hands. Ambriel makes her way in from the south, what she was doing outside haven at around four or five AM is anyone's guess, not like the Empyrean is all that sure herself. But, she's calm and collected as the morning dew that dampens the leather of her sandals.. Lyre looks down at the basket, a bit surprised at the weight of the thing, and casts a sideways glance at Faanshi as he falls in step along with her as they start towards the south. "Lead the way, my bright morning star, keeper of my heart, temptress whom I see in my dreams..." The twinkle returns to his eyes, teasing and at the same time sincere. _Temptress_?! Flushing scarlet behind her veil, Faanshi jerks her gaze away from the tall rangy Mongrel before her. If she was flustered before, _now_ she is barely able to keep enough coherence of will to remember which way the park lies from Atesh-Gah. "Come, Kosha," she mumbles, but fortunately the dog is paying attention. He leaps up from where he'd been sitting on his haunches, and lopes eagerly and restlessly on ahead of his young mistress as she begins to make her way for the corner along which she must turn to head for the city park. As Kosha goes he catches sight of Ambriel, and the dog lets out a bark of alert. Hey, you, Empyrean! Dog coming through! And his mistress, too! Ambriel glances at the dog and the cutesy cuddly scene between the mongrel and the halfbreed, letting her eyes follow them as she moves, neutral as her iris shade of gray, letting them slide off as she continues on her way. Ambriel travels south toward the intersection of Fairway and North. Ambriel has left. [And shortly...] You step through the gates of the city park and move between a row of willows before emerging onto a manicured lawn. City Park - Haven A large, well-manicured lawn covered with soft green grass provides some respite from the daily hustle-and-bustle of the city. Along its perimeter, beds of blue myrtle grow underneath a row of willow trees to the northwest, with a small path leading back streetside. A hedgerow delineates the southern boundary some hundred feet away, and a break in the hedge allows a view into a smaller, more private garden. This area is generally used for large public gatherings and social events, such as public performances or the huge festivals of cairds that flock to Haven throughout the year. At more quiet times, it is frequented by common folk and aristocrats alike, and most notably, the Sylvans seeking brief escape from the confining streets of Haven. Obvious exits: Street Garden Lyre approaches along the path from the street. Lyre has arrived. Somewhere between the second step and the third, Lyre began to whistle, which slowly progressed into a bouncing little marching sound that matched the swinging of the heavy basket. As the trio (Kosha included, of course) progress towards the park, he glances down at Faanshi with a fairly glowing expression on his features. "Where should I set this, joy of my life?" Faanshi has barely dared breathe, much less speak, as she and her escorts -- man and dog -- have made their way into the park. Eventually, though, she slows to a halt not too far away from the break in the hedge that leads off to the small garden beyond. And she turns again to seek your gaze, blurting out softly, "Here... I can see the sun from here." And the girl turns towards the east, gesturing skyward. The first tendrils of dawn are beginning to spread across the sky, bringing tinges of pink and palest orange into the last vestiges of dusky blue in that direction and dimming the brightness of most of the stars in all the others. "Do you see, Lyre...?" The bard carefully sets the basket upon the soft earth, crouching a bit to give Kosha a good-long skritch as he turns his gaze to the sky. The soft rose light matches the mood of Lyre's soul today, warm and soft. "I see, Faanshi. Ushas brings her light to the world once more. Do you think she smiles on us, dove?" His eyes drift from the coming sun to Faanshi, growing ever brighter as the day progresses. Heedless of dew on the grass, the maiden kneels by her basket, not far from either man or hound, but still full of a nervousness that fills her with both disquiet and wonder. Now she delves into the basket, tenderly avoiding crinkling the purple blossom carefully resting along the side; in moments, she's producing one of the weightier items from beneath the cloth that covers the contents, her small bier for burning prayer fires. Out with it comes a small bag of incense, and the familiarity of these items let Faanshi's hands grow steadier even if her voice yet trembles. "I... hope so...! Perhaps she is pleased... I... I want her to be pleased, I-I have asked the Amir-al i-if I may serve his Holy Mother..." Folding his legs beneath him, Lyre sinks to the wet grass as well, watching her with an attentive gaze. "I hope he chooses to let you do so, Faanshi. She could not have a more devoted servant than you. I know it." He idly scritches Kosha as he observes, trying to be as unobtrusive as he can. "You are so lovely in the light of the dawn." The compliment slips out without much thought, as if it simply occurred to him and he could no more halt the flow of words than he could prevent the sun from rising. With a deftness that belies the pulse of her heart, Faanshi measures out a tiny portion of incense into the bier. This is followed by the application of a little tinderbox, the next item out of the basket. It takes the maiden a few tries before she lights a flame in the bier... but once she does, she cradles it gently within her palms, moving it slowly until it is in a perfect position to meet its tiny light to that of the nascent sunrise. At the latest compliment given her Faanshi's gaze ducks down in sharp embarrassment, and her voice quivers again as she whispers, "Y-you keep saying that...!" Lyre says simply, dew soaking through his pants without his even noticing it. "That's because it's the truth. I have never known anyone like you before, Faanshi, and I cannot be less than honest with you. I find you lovely, and it brings me joy to tell you. If you wish, though, I will stop. I would not ever do anything that you wished me not to do." "I... am... not used to..." Faanshi's head bows a little further in her acute bashfulness, but before she can finish what you already know -- that compliments to her are as alien as a desert to an Atlantean -- she shakes herself ever so slightly. The dawn grows brighter... she must pray. But because you are here, she prays aloud this time, unable to restrain what is blossoming through her own heart. "H-Holy Mother of the Khalid... bless your humble daughter this, this morning..." A soft breath sounds, and ever so slowly, Faanshi straightens where she kneels. Her gaze lifts to the growing light though she remains sharply aware of the figure at her side. "Grant me... wisdom... and understanding... and... the words to persuade my Imphada to visit Haven as your mighty son h-has bidden..." Lyre does an admirable job in restraining his curiousity as he awaits the finish of your prayers. He tilts his head, watching the way the light shimmers on silk, the play of dawn across gold skin, and smiles. He is content merely to breathe flower-touched summer air and sit, joy rising in him just from being there. "Khalid makes a request of you, my heart?" Faanshi bobs her head in acknowledgement of and answer to that rumbled query, though she does not yet dare to turn her head again to face the Mongrel man who keeps her company. Kosha manages for now to give your undivided attention, though. The dog happily nudges at your nearest shoulder, hoping for further scritchings behind his ears. As the hound does that, his mistress breathes out over the miniscule flame she cradles, "A-and grant me... the wisdom t-to understand... what Lyre has told me, for it..." Her voice drops down to a bare whisper, and the last few words rush out of her in a sudden gust of syllables: "I do not know h-how I feel inside because of w-what he says but I do not want him to go away, Holy Mother, so please grant that h-he will... stay..." _Now_, at last, she trails off, her head turning slowly towards you. He moves with grace as he shifts a little bit, leaning forward to gently rest his warm hands upon silk-clad shoulders. Lyre hunches down just a little bit, putting his gaze on a level with those beautiful green eyes as he speaks. "I'll always be here when you need me, Faanshi. I promise." He lifts a hand from her shoulder and touches her cheek gently, "I don't think I could stay away even if I wanted to." A soft intake of breath sounds somewhere behind the maiden's veil, and there is to accompany it a subtle tremor of the gauze-shrouded cheek beneath your hand. That tremor has an echo in the shoulder touched by that hand's mate. Once again words crowd through her head, clamoring to be released and effectively managing to prevent her from saying anything -- though much confusion and shyness and unmistakable reaction to the contact is relayed by her summergreen eyes. Finally, abruptly, Faanshi manages to break though the dam of thoughts stopping her tongue, long enough to blurt out in a miniscule voice: "I wanted... to see you, during Holi... if... you want... I will show you my face." A blink is the bard's first reaction, clearly surprised. Lyre lets his hand fall and looks just a little bit astonished. "You would?" He looks down for a moment, as if trying to figure out why that offer provokes such an odd feeling in him. "I would like to see your face, Faanshi, if you feel that you can show it to me." Kosha lets out a tiny confused whine, not quite sure of the state of things between these two-legged creatures before him. But Faanshi seems not to notice. "You are my... friend," she murmurs by way of reply, the last word coming out of her unsurely, as though she is not entirely certain of its appropriateness. But even as she speaks, she keeps her little bier cradled gently in one hand. The other rises up, slender dusk-golden fingers curling about the delicate top of her veil... and drawing it downward. Her hand begins to tremble as she does so, but after a breath, and then another, her face emerges from behind the azure gauze. A nose a shade too long for classic beauty, though it and her mouth are seemingly both too small to harmonize comfortably with her enormous eyes. A delicately pointed chin, delicately sculpted cheekbones. It is a Sylvan face, for all its Varati coloring, and now that her mouth joins her eyes in visibility, it is all the more acutely shy and nervous. But not once does the maiden look away, despite the fright in her throat. Faanshi What is she? The most obvious thing to draw the eye to this maiden, the crowning ebon glory that is her hair must surely come straight from the Children of Fire -- and so, too, must the hue of her skin, a warm dark gold that speaks of the blaze of Ashur Masad's light upon generations of her forebears. Yet she is paler than many Varati, and standing as she does at only 5'9", she is small for a woman of that race. With a slender, delicate build that makes her seem in form akin to a young tree, she can be judged too dainty to pass easily for Varati or even Mongrel. Shy or simply trained to submissive silence she must be, for she rarely raises her eyes to anyone unless specifically bidden, and she speaks so seldom and so softly that it is nigh impossible to determine the nature of her voice. And she carries herself such that the thick curly mass of her black hair seems to serve as a natural veil, hiding much of her countenance from easy view -- but when she does chance to peek out from behind the strands that fall across her face, the clearest of signs that the Children of Earth also had a hand in her making can be seen. Her eyes, set at an un-Varati-ish slant, are the color of summer leaves... and unmistakably Sylvan. She is simply clad, her garments of humble make but excellent repair, perhaps the clothing of a servant whose household garbs even its servants well. Her choli is a bright shade of red; her silwar, bright blue. A darker blue sari with gold trim is wrapped about her slender frame, and a veil of translucent light blue silken stuff conceals the lower half of her face from easy view. On her feet are a penniless shudra's version of boots -- several rags of blue, red, and gold cloth tied there and there along her calves, ankles and feet, held in place by the long thongs of her sandals. The bard absently reaches down a hand to rub Kosha's head as he watches, his eyes widening just the least little bit as the veil is drawn downward. For once, his words are simple, made so by the trust inherant in Faanshi's act. "Faanshi, you are lovely. Truly lovely." And he speaks the truth, for to his eyes, there is only beauty to be seen -- Lyre is a most biased beholder. His gaze never falters for a moment as he watches her, and smiles, before murmuring, "You honor me. Thank you." "I-I show my face to my... friends," comes the shudra girl's whisper. But her gaze drops quickly at the compliment, while she wonders in dismay if the heat rushing through her cheeks can be seen now that she's lowered her veil. Odd... it has been easier, showing her face to StormBearer and Tybio; why does it cause her such a rush of consternation now? "Even th-though I-I-I don't have...too many..." Lyre suggests quietly, "Perhaps you have more friends than you know. I cannot imagine anyone disliking you, little dove." He smiles slowly and looks down, admitting, "I do not have many friends either. I've just grown used to being alone, after all these years. It's nice to have someone to talk to." "But... you're a bard," Faanshi says then, peeking up once more, surprise broadcasting itself as clear as day in her features. Has this maiden ever learned to school her expressions? Very possibly not, not with them hidden safely away behind concealing blue. "Do you not... have many people t-to talk to? Sing to?" Kosha in the meantime, having shaken himself contentedly at the bard's scratching of his fur, lays down upon the damp grass beside Lyre and Faanshi both and watches them with curious canine eyes. Lyre's smile is wry and a bit self-deprecating, "I talk to them, and sing to them, and tell them tales...But that does not make them my friends. Most of them are just people I sing to for money." With a soft chuckle, he looks down at Kosha before glancing up at his mistress, "You two are the first people I've sung for out of my own joy in a very long time." The thought that she's brought someone joy seems to have a deep effect upon the halfbreed maiden. Something new happens to her face now: her mouth curls up on each end, just a little, the shyest and tiniest of smiles. But her eyes take on a hopeful shine, and she breathes, "I like your singing! And... and... I will be happy to talk with you... what can we talk about?" And there's another emotion coursing across her strange fine-lined features, a childlike eagerness. With another grin, Lyre lies back on the moist grass, propping his head up on his hand and watching Faanshi. He suggests, "Tell me about Holi? What did you like best about it?" His free hand plucks a blade of grass and idly uses it to tickle at Kosha's nose. Clearly, the healer girl is torn between keeping her gaze demurely averted... and bringing it up to meet the warm dark one resting upon her. Her attention flitters back and forth, but is repeatedly, irresistably drawn to the bard's countenance, his hands, the way his body settles as he stretches himself out upon the grass. While the dog blows out a *chuff* of air through his nostrils and snaps lightly at the blade tickling him, Faanshi considers the question with earnest concentration just as readable as every other little nuance of sentiment that has thus far inhabited her face. "Everything... was different," she ventures then. "Everyone was so friendly! No kshatri... no vaisya... no shudra... just... a-all of us... rejoicing in the birthing of the Amir-al! I got gulai all over me... and Kosha, too!" The mention of his name makes the dog *chuff* again, his ears flicking. "There were children who let me use their blow-tubes. And.. there were kites! Kites fighting over the beach. I got to see that. I..." At last she trails off, her face now relaying an awed wonder. "I got to see so many new things. I-I-I'd never seen a Holi before." "I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to see those things with you -- for I've only heard of Holi, and not much at that." Lyre grins at Kosha's snuffling and drops the blade of grass, absently wiping a little bit of dog slobber on the edge of his cloak. "It sounds as if everyone had a wonderful time. I imagine that pleased the Amir-al quite a lot. He likes his people to be happy." "He gave us all his favor when he addressed us the first night," Faanshi agrees, in timid tones. "The Most High lit the sacred bonfire..." For a moment, she trails off again, reverence in her eyes and in her voice, the look of one who considers herself very small and very insignificant in the face of something as grand as the celebration of the birth of a god. "But I did not see more than glimpses of him as he watched over the party. There was..." Her sari-covered head tilts a little as she visibly searches for words. "So... _much_ of it, so much noise... and color... and smells..." And now her gaze dips again as she admits sheepishly towards her lap, watching the flicker of light within her incense bier, "I-I-I got a little scared." "That's nothing to be ashamed of, little dove. So much activity can be confusing, especially if it's all happening around you." Lyre remarks quietly, "I felt the same way the first time I was in a fight. I ended up hiding under a wagon." He grins. _That_ makes Faanshi straighten up, her eyes going wide, as she pipes, "I had to hide inside a wagon in the first fight I was in! But I... guess it was really more like a battle, and Imphada Kira wouldn't let me get up." A pause, and then she asks earnestly, "Were you scared?" With dawnlight beginning to grow stronger and the tiny fire inside the bier still bravely throwing off its miniscule glow, her face is growing more discernible now, making it even easier to read her expression. Now it's radiating an interest that suggests that for the shudra girl, at this moment and in this place, there is nothing in the world but the Mongrel bard. His teeth make a stripe of white across the tanned skin of his features as he smiles, admitting ruefully, "I was nearly sick with it. My master was taking us north with a caravan and some bandits attacked. The guards beat them away, but it was the first time I'd ever seen a real fight before. I was only a boy, though, not much more than twelve." "That is what happened when I went to Avalon!" Faanshi cries -- if such a verb can be applied to the soft exclamation she utters. "Bandits came and attacked the Mongrels that Thomas was leading to Arcillium." Her dainty brow crinkles then, and she asks in guileless bemusement, "Do... do bandits attack people who travel a lot? We didn't get attacked by any bandits when Imphadi Gaiden brought me back to Haven." Lyre smiles just a bit and skritches Kosha's ears, "I imagine it depends on what time of year it is, how bad the crops have been, that sort of thing. Bandits are usually farmers or soldiers who can't feed themselves any other way than by stealing. Or sometimes they're just men who refuse to work." He gives a little shrug, adding quietly, "It's always worse when there is war in the land. People feel desperate and as if the laws do not apply anymore. Haven is safe, though. As safe as any place can be." Not too long ago, Faanshi would have been bemused by the notion that some men might need to steal to survive -- but not too long ago, Faanshi was still living in the closed-off prison that was the Clan Sarazen vara. The notion that bandits might need to steal food to eat disturbs her less than the idea that some might simply be refusing to work, and she muses uncomfortably, "But... but is it not a sin, to just... do evil to people, to fight with them and try to take their food?" "By most beliefs it is. But when your child lies weak for hunger, and there is no work to be had, and the only way to survive is to take from another who has plenty...Well, many people would take their chances with the gods' judgement in order to save themselves or their families." Lyre speaks quietly, "I suppose, like most things, it depends on your point of view -- would the gods demand that an innocent child die so that a rich merchant might eat until he grows fat?" "_That_ would be a sin," Faanshi declares firmly. Gently, but firmly. "The merchant would be breaking the sixth holy surah if he did not share his food with the poor child." There are not too many things that provoke a tone of certainty out of this maiden -- but it would seem that this example is one of them. "So it would be -- and would it not be fitting punishment for the gods to allow a thief to take a portion of his goods, in order to feed the child?" Lyre smiles, seeming familiar with this debate. Almost as if he's had to face a similar choice before. Or perhaps, one day a very long time ago, he was the child. The halfbreed girl tilts her head slightly at this, concentration and deep thought adding an uncharacteristic acuity to her leaf-colored eyes. Now that her veil is off, too, it might be noted that she unthinkingly tucks her lower lip under her teeth as she thinks -- another tiny detail that the opalescent blue shroud has been hiding. "I.... am not sure..." She hesitates then, made unsure all over again by this strange new experience of debating ideas with a _man_, especially when she is not sure she agrees with him. Timorously she peeks again at her companion, searching without entirely being conscious of it for further cues that this debate is all right. "Then you've found the right answer, for now. Perhaps if you're ever forced to make another decision, the answer will be different." Lyre straightens up, looking towards the lightening sky. "I've found that most choices in life depend entirely upon the circumstances...And I've also found that if you don't take hold of something when it's offered to you, you risk losing it forever." He smiles one more time and gets to his feet, dew clinging to the rough weave of his cloth as he offers his hand to Faanshi to help her up, "The sun is risen, little dove. May I walk you home?" Hastily, Faanshi releases a small puff of breath to extinguish the pinpoint flame within her bier, leaving a tendril scented with sage and sandalwood to waft upwards into the morning air. And then she tentatively curls her hand around your offered one, willing to get to her feet as long as you are. But then she stops, struck by the thought that the waxing light is better illuminating you now, and she makes no move to start walking. Instead she stands there, her hand slightly quivering as it is held, her gaze making it anew to your face and her own full of intermingled hesitance... and wonder. "I wasn't... going to go back to... Atesh-Gah," she murmurs. His hand lightly cradles hers as he looks down at her, curiously, "You weren't? May I walk with you to wherever you are going, then?" Lyre grins just a little bit, unable to hold it in. To himself, he cannot help but think . o O ( She is so beautiful. ) "I... need to go to Bordertown," the maiden explains, her sari-wrapped head bobbing down towards her basket, still waiting upon the ground. "I have a bit of herbs to give out, t-to help a few people... I, um... I do that..." As Faanshi speaks, she grows more flustered, and it doesn't help in the slightest that she is not at all sure why. Her fingers flutter in the larger ones that wrap about them, and then she mumbles, feeling suddenly too scared to look up again, "I-I-I should punt my veil back on..." With a nod, Lyre continues to hold her hand, lightly squeezing the delicate fingers within his grasp. "Of course..." He lifts his hand, asking with a roguish grin, "May I?" His fingers find the bit of blue silk and lift at it experimentally, fascinated with the smooth texture that normally hides Faanshi's face. "You, um, have to use the... wire under the seam... it goes back along my ears," Faanshi says tinily, by way of permission. Her gaze creeps up again, over that soft translucent sky-colored silk. And indeed there is a wire of some kind woven into the cloth, detectable by the fingers exploring the veil. His fingers, nimble from years of instrument playing, find the wire and carefully guide it back over Faanshi's ears to secure the veil. With a smile, Lyre murmurs, "There. Straight and tidy." He smiles again and asks softly, "Let me walk with you?" Her ears -- another hidden detail, there under the gold-trimmed blue sari, under the strands of ebon hair held restrained by the cloth. Given the Sylvan cast of her features one might expect her ears to be pointed... but they're small even for regular ears, their tops lower than they should be. Faanshi's breath hitches oddly as your fingers track back to settle the veil into place, and she seems to have difficulty managing even the words, "I'd... like that." With a rakish grin, Lyre offers his arm to Faanshi and bows, "Shall we?" Now that the bipeds are standing, Kosha hops up, his tail wagging and his ears pricked up as he anticipates going to a new place and following at his mistress's side. Faanshi blurts, "Basket... my basket..." There is heat in her cheeks again, unsoothed by the restoration of her veil. With a swift stooping she takes up the basket again, slipping the bier within it and then straightening. Your arm. Faanshi looks at it in deep bemusement, aware that noble men, men of manners and polish, offer their arms to ladies. But she is not at all sure how this applies to her, and with trepidation she steps closer to try to curl her arm about your elbow. He closes his hand lightly over Faanshi's arm, straightening her grasp just a little so that the circulation isn't _entirely_ cut off, and smiles. Lyre leans over a bit to put his free hand on the basket, "Let me carry it?" He seems entirely set upon playing the elegant gentleman escort today. Well, he's seen the Empyrean's play noble enough times to fake it well-enough. "All... all right," Faanshi breathes. The arm she now holds feels... nice, she tells herself. Strong and steady and secure. It's almost a relief, because she is not at all certain of the odd sensation coursing through her, growing stronger the longer she keeps contact with you. Once again her now-veiled face lifts up to find your own... and although the veil is back in its accustomed location, her eyes are very full and very liquid. "I'd like to walk with you..." As they start towards the gate, Lyre looks back down at her, his own eyes warm and crinkling slightly as he smiles, "Then we'll walk together until we get wherever we need to be." He gallantly holds open the gate for her and as they vanish into the streets of Bordertown, the bard begins to whistle once more -- a ballad of the morning. [End log.]