"Search and Rescue" Log Date: 11/16/99 Log Cast: Kiera, Faanshi, Khalil, Agni-Haidar warrior (NPC emitted by Khalil), Lyre, assorted Mongrels (NPCs emitted by Faanshi and Lyre) Log Intro: In recent days in which Haven has been swamped by frightening surges in the aether that have affected every mage in the city -- sometimes with fatal effects -- and then slammed by a massive earthquake, Faanshi's attempts to learn from the Sylvan FallingStar and the old arch-magus Varati Samein have been seriously hampered. Now that the city has begun to settle down again, one other thing has risen up to distract Faanshi from the task of studying her magic: The whereabouts of the Mongrel bard Lyre Talespinner. Lyre has confessed that he loves her, and moreover, has been sending her simple gifts of flowers and sweets. Dazed and awestruck by his attentions, still not understanding them even as she grows increasingly fascinated by his company, Faanshi has suddenly realized that the reason she hasn't seen the man in days might well be because the dangers that have swept over the city might have harmed him. And thus, in between anxiously assuring herself of the welfare of FallingStar and doing what she can to aid those harmed by the massive earthquake, the young halfbreed has desperately sought any trace of the bard's presence in and around the city. She's even desperate enough that she'll brave the ire of a wounded Agni-Haidar for a crumb of news about him... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Night (Duskside) Date on Aether: Sunday, July 28, 3905. Year on Earth: 1505 A.D. Phase of the Moon: New Season: Summer Weather: Pouring Rain Temperature: Comfortable *==========================================================================* You step through the great double doors and emerge into the courtyard. Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#430RJM) If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees. Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it. Contents: Khalil Obvious exits: Temple Fountain Out Entrance Foyer Stables From the top of the stable roof, Kiera snoozes up on the rooftop, a once-familiar figure caped in her own wings and dark against the night sky. In /her/ immediate vicinity, the rain doesn't fall. Rain. It doesn't deter a maiden on a mission. Faanshi emerges with what for those who know her even passingly can tell is an uncharacteristic urgency for the young shudra girl. Her big hound has little trouble keeping up with her long-legged strides, though his ears are perked up at her haste. What does appear to deter the halfbreed is enough caution to pause and cast a glance about her wet surroundings, green eyes peeking up over her veil and a slim hand reaching to tug her sari a bit more into place over her ebon hair. "I will not listen to such things anymore..." growls a terribly raspy voice. It is followed by the clang of a sword against a staff. They slide against each other, ending in a slight ringing sound as two men back away from each other. "Why not?" comes s second voice. "Are you too afraid to hear the truth?" The first man... looking something like Khalil, rushes froward with his falcare held high. His opponent sweeps quickly with his staff trying to push his attacker away. "It is not the truth.. She would never do that." Sword against staff once more as the mock battle continues. Well, if there is anything Faanshi expects to find in the courtyard, it's not too men going at one another with their weaponry. The maiden starts and so does her dog, snapping his head around and letting off a soft warning bark -- though whether to the dueling men or to warn off the young maiden he so loyally guards is anyone's guess. Perhaps it's meant to do both. With no warning a falcare goes flying through the air, landing blade down into the dirt. Khalil has been unarmed and so he tries to fight with his bare hands. "Face it Khalil.. you are losing." A growl is the only answer as he steps right into the man's staff. It hits him on the side of the head before he falls to the ground. There is no hand of helping as the staff's end presses against his throat. "Yeild. Your anger has unfocused you.." Khalil shakes his head, trying to get back up. But the more he struggles the more pressure his friend puts upon the staff. "Yield or I will make sure you are not put on duty until this matter is resolved." A finally try before there is no more struggling. The staff wielding man nods his head, stepping back, "Good. Now go get some rest before I report you." With those words he walks away, brushing rain from his face. Oh dear. Faanshi peers through the rain-laced darkness as the fight appears to end, and wonders if she dares interrupt -- and then wonders if she dares avoid it. Who knows if she might be passing up an opportunity to find the one she seeks, even if it means risking the ire of an Agni-Haidar? And besides -- that last blow looked painful. Swallowing behind her veil, the maiden approaches on feet that tread softly on the wet cobblestones, her dog a shadow at her heels. She clasps her hands at her breast and bows low over them as she speaks up shyly, "Excuse me, imphadi... may this humble one beg a moment of your time?" Reaching up to touch his head, Khalil's hand comes smashing down into the ground. It is covered in blood though it is soon washed away by the rain. He looks toward Faanshi menacingly, his teeth bared as though he were a dog. There is no answer for some time as he struggles to stand up. Finally, as he gets to his knees, Khalil motions for her to speak. "What is it?" But no answer is waited for as he goes to retrieve his sword, the blade carefully looked over with a frown. This shudra girl knows better than to look up without invitation into the face of a Lion of Fire, and thus she misses the menacing expression. She does not, however, miss his tone. And thus she keeps her head demurely and properly bowed, even as she says in prompt and only slightly halting reply, "I offer my gift of healing in your service, imphadi, if you... require it... and also ask your leave to ask you a question...?" "I do not need healing.." Not even if Khalil had thirty swords in him. A little blood never hurt anybody. See? Look at how he has to struggle to stand or to even see straight. It will pass.. of course it will. Sheathing his sword for later he crosses his arms over his chest to look down at the shudra. Though she may not see his expression, it has softened somewhat in light of how his voice may sound. "Ask your question before I grow tired of standing out in the rain." Humble though she might have called her gift, Faanshi can feel the man's suppressed pain even from outside arm's reach. Her clasped hands tighten their grip involuntarily, and her voice when she speaks again is a trifle breathless from her attempt to quell the power roiling in the back of her mind: "You honor me with your patience, imphadi... and I-I wish only to know, imphadi, if you have heard news of what has befallen parts of Bordertown following the shaking of the earth...?" She makes no move to touch the warrior, however, and save for that slight strain in her voice she demonstrates no other sign that her magic has awakened in reaction to the blood washed clean by the rain. An Agni-Haidar is not the only creature within Atesh-Gah who can exhibit iron, stoic control. Nor is he the only creature within Atesh-Gah to exhibit a watchful gaze, for the dog at her side does this, staring up levelly at the wounded Khalil while his fur grows damper beneath the rain. Khalil takes a breath, a hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. No.. no weakness, no pain. Though more blood escapes the wound he remains still. Eyes watch, ears listen and it seems forever for him to answer. He has heard, if not realized the implications of the question. For a moment he just regards her and thedog. "No," he finally whispers. "Though it is likely that most of the damage occured there. That place is unfit for most animals let alone people. I advise you to forget about it and leave such worries to those outside these walls.." His boots move against the wet earth, mud clinging as he tries to step free of the puddle forming in the indentations. "Is that all?" Faanshi bows deeply, murmuring, "That is all, imphadi. This humble one thanks you for your advice." Never mind that she won't be taking it, but we need not mention that. There's a bard missing out there, and the maiden intends to find him... though now, she holds herself still with more of her own version of stoic control, waiting until the warrior goes about his business. "As if one would listen to my advice.." Khalil grumbles before he steps away. A sucking sound replaces the pounding of boots as more mud decides to ride upon those polished boots. Moving toward the embassy now, he pauses before the door looking down at the mud he has trailed. With a final sigh, visible even from where she stands, he enters inside. Faanshi does not plan to -- though it hardly has anything to do with the advice-giver and everything to do with the possibility that a man's life is at stake. She peeks tensely after the Agni-Haidar... and only when he vanishes into the foyer doors does she risk murmuring to her hound, "Come, Kosha!" A slender hand beckons... and with urgency fueling her steps, the shudra girl hastens for the gates. [And later, much later, somewhere in Bordertown...] The Agni-Haidar hadn't detained her -- and neither, for that matter, had the sentries at the gates. Her status as a shudra who can carry burdens and messages almost if not more useful than her status as a healer, Faanshi has found she can invent reasons readily enough to carry her out of Atesh-Gah if need be; there have certainly been uses for a shudra healer outside the walls after all of the crises that have struck the city as of late. But the task that motivates her now has nothing to do with the noble purposes of healing those injured in the earthquake, or carrying vitally needed supplies or communications. With Kosha at her heels, she has come into ravaged Bordertown, prepared for her next round of seeking Lyre. _He said he'd be there if I needed him,_ she can't keep herself from thinking in anguish as she hastens through the broken streets. Simultaneously ashamed of herself for the selfishness of her desire and desperate to see the man and assure herself of his welfare, she stops this person and that to ask for any sign of the Mongrel bard's whereabouts. Bordertown is definitely a mess; the shabby construction work that poverty requires doesn't hold up well under the strain of an earthquake. The best that can be said about the situation is that Bordertown's inhabitants are no strangers to work. That's why it's not unusual to see people clustered about even at night, even in the rain, busily trying to work through the rubble of a fallen building. A child, shivering and dawdling on the edges of the workers, exclaims to those slowly gathering nearby to watch, "C'or! The buildin' near fell on me, but that bard fellow saved me! Pushed me roight out o' the way 'fore the roof fell on him!" One of the diggers puts up an arm and calls out, "I found him! Someone bring the lantern over!" The shudra girl skitters to a halt in the rain, catching sight of the cluster of disheveled men and women some distance away. An intermingled surge of hope and dread shoots through her, and she breathes, "Kosha... come, Kosha, come..." Faanshi diverts her course, gesturing anxiously for the nearest of the crowd. "Excuse me," she breathes out, "please, imphadi, can you tell me... have you seen the bard Lyre Talespinner?" The child take the opportunity for a new audience and turns to Faanshi, eyes wide, "Thas him, that's the man! Talespinner. He pushed me out o' the way and the roof fell on 'im!" The diggers move the lantern up and lean into the hole they'd dug from the rubble of the building. One calls out, "He's alive! Pass me the lever there, Mite." Rain splashes on the stone and timbers and moldering thatch of the collapsed house, and from within comes a weak voice, "Careful, it's on m' leg." "The... roof... fell..." Faanshi has never understood until now the meaning of the phrase 'heart rising into one's throat' until now. Her ability to breathe seems to stop at the little one's enthusiastic babbling, and only resumes at the call from within what's left of the house. Kosha barks, and as he does the halfbreed girl shoots a wide-eyed green glance towards the source of that voice. Then without thinking she's suddenly pushing her way through the crowd, crying, "Let me through, I beg you, imphadi... excuse me! Let me through... I am a healer, let me through! _Lyre_?!" The diggers part reluctantly, save for the man holding the lantern over the dent where Lyre has just recently been unearthed. As Faanshi calls his name, the bard blinks the bleariness from his eyes long enough to call, "Faanshi, stay back -- the building's still unstable. You could be hurt!" "You _are_ hurt," Faanshi wails, but she takes a step back in reflexive reaction to the bard's call. Kosha noses his way through the crowd behind her, whining at the sight of the man pinned under the debris, and the girl grabs swiftly for the hound even as she adds to the men surrounding her, "Can you get him out, imphadis?" Her voice bursts out of her with uncharacteristic volume, cracking on 'out'. "Yeah, miss, we can. Stay back now, 'cause we need to heft these blocks..." The mongrels use a lever and start prying at the blocks, doing their best to heave the wreckage and free Lyre from the mess. After a few minutes work, they get him free and start to lean in to pull him out. His soft grunt of pain stops them, "My leg's broken, mates. Take it easy. Faanshi, are you still there?" There's worry in his voice, and pain, and perhaps just a little hope. As the Mongrel men set to work, Faanshi kneels at Kosha's side, keeping her arms around her dog to persuade him to stay back and out of the way of the others. This is not the first time she has witnessed Mongrels working together to accomplish with nothing more than determination and muscle what might take a gifted mage far less time, but this is the first time the sight has pierced her so. "Here!" she calls out, at the sound of her name. One of the mongrel men turns to Faanshi and says in a rough, yet gently respectful voice, "Miss, ye better get up here. The buildin'll stay, but we could use a healer." Lyre growls as he catches an ear of that, "You keep her out of this, Mikel. Just get me out of this pit." "Stay, Kosha, stay," murmurs the maiden, stroking her dog's head to try to emphasize her command. The dog doesn't like it, but he grudgingly stays put as she rises to her feet. "Let me to him," she pleads softly, her eyes above her veil seeking out those of the man who'd beckoned her. The mongrel man nods and beckons, offering a hand to help Faanshi over the worst of the rubble and guide her to the edge of the cleared-out spot where Lyre is resting, water puddling around him as the rain seeps to its lowest level and stops. He looks quite battered, though he fights the pain with a grimace as he catches sight of Faanshi. He manages a weak grin, "Good evening, dove." Heedless of rain, heedless of dirt, Faanshi kneels down in the mud amidst those surrounding the bard. "Namaste', Lyre," she murmurs, her voice turned tiny, her gaze coursing up and down him now as she seeks out any and all signs of hurt she can find. Fear brings a lump up into her throat for all that she's discovered she can still use her magic; the problem is... will he let her? "You said that your leg is broken... do you hurt anywhere else?" With another grimace, Lyre looks up at Faanshi, rain dribbling onto his face. "My ribs are probably broken." Which explains the gasping and the weakness of his words, "Other than that, I'm fine. The little boy? Did he get out before it collapsed?" "He is safe, brave one," Faanshi answers, leaning in to gently, very gently, slide her arm under the wounded man's head, for she cannot allow him to remain lying in the mud. "He is safe... and you are hurt. Will you allow me?" Her voice goes even softer, strained with concern. As she speaks, she lifts up a hand to pull her veil free, reaching with it to try to clean dirt from Lyre's face. With a little raspy breath, Lyre says, "I'd allow you anything, Faanshi. I trust you completely." His gaze searches her face worriedly, "But your magic...It won't put you in danger, will it? I saw how the other mages suffered in the aether-storms." The mention of the storms sends nervous mutterings through the rest of the bedraggled crowd, and swiftly, Faanshi looks up to cry, "I can _do_ it! I swear in the name of the Amir-al and his Holy Mother!" As she speaks she cradles the bard close to her breast, and the sight of her unveiled face causes several double-takes. But she promptly looks down again into the anxious brown eyes studying her and repeats, "I can do it." With a small nod, Lyre closes his eyes and says softly, "I trust you, Faanshi." He puts his hand over hers and gently squeezes it, pain creasing his features as he waits for the touch of her healing magic. I trust you. Faanshi is struck by those three words, not knowing whether anyone has uttered them to her before -- but then, this Mongrel man she holds appears to have developed a habit of saying words she's never heard before. A smile blossoms across her face; with that, though, she leans her brow down to touch his. And though no one around her including Lyre can sense it, the aether begins to shift as she reaches *within* to summon up her gift. It flows out and into the injured bard, seeking out the damage his body has sustained. His lips part on the softest of sighs as Faanshi's magic soothes the pain flowing from his battered ribs and broken leg, the agony withdrawing into a muted ache of newly healed flesh. Lyre relaxes and opens his eyes, saying quietly, "Thank you, Faanshi." Seated in mud, wet, tired, he still manages a roguish little grin. "I've missed you." It does not take very long -- and although the man in Faanshi's arms cannot sense the flow of the magic, the physical effects are undeniable. The sensation sinks in past flesh and pools bone-deep in a surge of seeming warmth that flares before subsiding into that dull leftover ache. What warmth is left is simply that of Faanshi's slight form and her arms cradling the bard's wet dark head. "Is he all right?" someone pipes up, and someone else hunkers down to try to get a look at Lyre's face and frame. "I cannae tell. Talespinner, man, did she do ye or din't she?" Finding herself oddly oblivious to the voices around her, the halfbreed girl lifts her head but still stares down into brown eyes. "You will... need to rest," she whispers. "I-I can only mend... I cannot add to your strength..." It begins to dawn upon her that she's taken the man into her arms, and her voice grows shaky in reaction. "W-will you.. be able to... get up?" Lyre lifts his hand to lightly brush Faanshi's cheek, tracing her skin once again free of the veil. "Yes." Shifting his weight, he leans up and lightly brushes his lips against her cheek where his fingers had just touched. "Thank you." He leans back a little and calls to the men clustering around, "Aye, she did, an' well! This lady be a fine healer, an' no mistake. Now help me out o' here before I drown." His voice and accent gets more rough when he talks to the others, but his eyes stay on Faanshi's, warm and proud. Faanshi had thought that the words 'the roof fell on him' was enough to make her stop breathing. She is mistaken. In theory, the news that a roof has just fallen upon the man she's been seeking for days should be less alarming than that same man touching her cheek... especially with his lips. All over again, she ceases to breathe. And as the bard's compatriots approach to help him up, grins now wreathing their exhausted faces, it is only with a tiny squeak that she's able to blurt, "Careful with--" One of the men grins and nudges Lyre's arm, "So _this_ is the lass you've been sending flowers to every day? My Feia will be jealous, y'know." Lyre ducks his head a bit and makes sure that he takes ahold of Faanshi's hand as the others lift him from the wreckage, giving it a little squeeze as he limps tiredly off the hill created by the fallen house, "This is the lady, aye. And I'll no' be havin' any disrespect to her, hear?" He gives the others a little glare, tempered by humor. Now that Lyre has been helped to his feet Kosha surges up to his own -- and when Faanshi shoots up to stand herself his joyful barks peal out over the increasingly relieved chatter of the gathered Mongrel men and women. Blushing vehemently, temporarily forgetting about the veil still hanging loose at her throat, the maiden scrambles out of the rubble in the others' wake. "Is anyone else hurt?" she pipes then, weakly. Mikel, the mongrel who teased Lyre, shakes his head, "No, ma'am, not a one. The bard here's the only one slow 'nough to get caught inside." With a grin, the mongrel adds, "He did save the boy's life, though. Good on yer, Lyre." The crowds start to drift a little, heading for dry indoors and tankards of ale and supper -- at least until the next disaster requires the community to band together. Kosha surges between two of the Mongrels to thrust his nose at Faanshi, bent on making certain she's still whole; then, for good measure, he whirls on Lyre and sniffs him thoroughly. "Kosha!" the maiden protests, trying to calm the big hound down. His tail wagging at top speed, he barks his general approval at the sight of both the shudra and the bard, while Faanshi finds herself staring up again at Lyre's wet, bedraggled face. "You'll... knock him over," she murmurs absentmindedly then. Lyre grins tiredly and gives Kosha's head a good rubbing, still holding onto Faanshi's hand. "Aye, he might. Is it me, or has he grown since the last time we spoke?" He starts to follow the crowd, albeit slowly for the lingering ache in his leg, murmuring, "Come, dove, let's get out of this rain and get Kosha a bone. Would you like that, ye great hound?" "The khansamah... says he is not really a dog... but a small horse," the maiden murmurs. Among the small handful of words Kosha knows is 'bone', and he sets off into a string of enthusiastic barks that show his approval of _that_ particular concept, too. Faanshi, in the meantime, adds dazedly, "You should lie down, Lyre... somewhere warm..." Lyre wobbles a bit and stops to blink his gaze clear, before nodding carefully and agreeing, "That sounds quite appealing, actually." Worried now, he stops and turns to Faanshi, placing hands upon her shoulders as he looks her over thoroughly, as if checking to make sure the past few days' calamities hadn't hurt her. "I was coming to the embassy to find you when the building collapsed. Tell me everything is all right with you? When the magic storms began..." He stops, swallowing, before forcing out roughly, "I was worried." There is no obvious sign of harm upon her -- assuming one can safely discount the mud now dirtying her silken garments as any sign of 'harm'. But her face is more drawn than it should be, and there are dark little hollows at the corners of those enormous leaf-colored eyes of hers. Faanshi goes very still at the big hands gently grasping her shoulders, Her eyes go liquid, her mouth quivering as though she can't quite decide whether to smile or frown. "I'm... all right now," she mumbles. Days of wrestling with the surges in her magic, the acute overloaded pain that had become her sense of touch, and then the great shaking of the earth, begin to catch up with her; she trembles under the grasp of those hands. "I'm all right now..." That's all it takes; that little quivering, the trembling...Those hands, still warm despite the chill of the rain, gently pull Faanshi closer and he carefully wraps his arms around her in a hug. He's simply unable to hold himself back from this assurance, this relief, as he breathes, "Thank the gods." Lyre seems heedless of the wet and mud that he consequently gets all over Faanshi's lovely silk clothes; all he cares about his holding on to her, to make sure she's safe, and preferably in his arms. It's just a hug, no more, but it expresses just how afraid for her he was. Faanshi's own arms curl around the bard, as she abruptly buries her face against his chest. If anything, her trembling increases. "I've, I-I've been looking for days," she mumbles into Lyre's chest. "Days and days... I heard what happened... all over the city with the mages... I-I-I saw some of it in Atesh-Gah and, and, and then the earth shook and I couldn't _find_ you and I looked all over and I was so scared you were hurt o-or de--I, I mean, that I would not find you in time and I-I-I could not have borne it if--" Lyre makes little shushy noises and slowly rocks her in his arms, much like a parent would to a child; his hand lightly comes up to stroke her hair beneath its silken covering. "I'm sorry, Faanshi, so sorry that I couldn't come to you sooner. I was in the north, in the farmlands, and when the storms hit..." He doesn't go on. Memories of that journey, alone in the wild weather as he fought his way back to the city, "I'm so sorry, dove." He bends his head, placing a soft kiss to the top of her head, "I would do anything to keep you from harm, from worry. Anything at all." Loosened as it's become in the rain, it's easy enough to find the maiden's thick ebon hair beneath the damp top of her sari. Faanshi sniffles, her arms clinging with surprising strength to the bard's lean waist, and then she lifts her head to peek upwards at him. "I-I'll stop worrying now," she whispers. Something that might almost be the first glimmers of confidence brightens her eyes behind their tears. "I found you... I healed you...!" His smile is warm and definitely proud. "You did. If it hadn't been for you, there's no telling how long I'd have had to been wearing a cast...Not to mention how hard it'd have been to get me out of there. Did you see how everyone admired you?" And it's the truth; as they'd left, several of the mongrels had been murmuring about the pretty young thing that'd been so helpful. Lyre adds gently, looking down at her, "I do not know what I would have done without you." "I wasn't looking at them," Faanshi murmurs, truthfully. Her gaze stays up, green eyes met to brown, rain intermingling with the tears streaking her cheeks. Lyre answers, his voice a little rough, "I didn't want to. But I knew that if I kept looking at you..." He stops, words trailing off as he moves his hand from her hair to her cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb along the tracks of tears, "I knew I'd want to kiss you. And I'm not sure how you'd take that." The halfbreed girl's heart had leapt into her throat when the child had relayed the news of Lyre's saving him. Her breath had stopped when the bard had kissed her cheek. And now she goes very still in his embrace, her gaze riveted upon his face. "You... wanted to..." Each word comes out of her progressively tinier. "Kiss me?" "Very much." Lyre keeps it simple, no matter how much his particularly poetic nature would like to expound upon her loveliness, her purity, her soul...What marks a wordsmith as truly and utterly smitten? She steals his words away, leaving him bared to his core. And she's cute, too. "Would you let me do that?" Her trembling comes back in full force now -- but for different reasons. Faanshi stares up at the Mongrel, thunderstruck. He is neither a grand warrior of the kshatri clans, nor a vaisya merchant... nor even the imaginary Sylvan she'd once dreamed might rescue her from the Warlord Hashim, as she sometimes likes to think her father had wanted to do for her mother. Lyre is a simple Mongrel... but he has captivated her. The maiden's mind races as she tries to make herself reply, and the best she can manage is a tinily mumbled, "I-I-I have... never been... m-m-my heart-mother did not tell me..." Lyre seems to understand; that in itself is a bewildering thing, chiefly because most men aren't known for their great capacity for understanding female emotions. But Lyre gives a little nod and returns his hand to lightly stroking her hair, "You've never been kissed before." A statement of fact that holds just a little question to it; he's fairly sure he knows the answer, but it rarely hurts to ask. Faanshi's lower lip tucks under her teeth. Almost as round as dinars though greener than even the oldest copper coins circulating through Haven, her eyes never shift their gaze away from Lyre's countenance. Shyness and fascination and fear are almost ridiculously easy to read in the fragile lines of her own features as she shakes her head back and forth. Laughter is as much a part of him as music; he can't help the little twinkle in his eyes, but it is well-tempered by warmth and a sincere compassion. Lyre says softly, "Close your eyes? I promise, I would do nothing to harm you, or bring you shame." "I trust you, Lyre." _Those_ words come forth without effort, offered in guileless utmost sincerity, a gift in exchange for the trust given her. Faanshi then closes her eyes, squeezing them shut rather like a nervous child might do if she's trying to pretend that the big monster under her bed can't see her if she can't see _it_. Light as a butterfly's wings, his lips brush across her own, once, twice, almost ghostly; then one last time he touches his lips to hers in the gentlest of kisses. It's almost as if he was half afraid himself; not of the kiss, but of frightening Faanshi away. Lyre drifts back and once more lifts his hand from her hair, to trace the edge of her face with his thumb. The nervous child trying to shut out the sight of a big monster transforms, subtly but surely, to a nervous young woman who catches her breath at the tender feather's touch of a kiss. Her lips part in surprised reaction, and all at once she finds herself suffused through with a whole host of alien fluttering feelings, as though someone had trapped birds in a net beneath her flesh. As Lyre draws away again her eyes come open, instinctively seeking his. Lyre asks seriously, "Was that all right?" Twinkle. Egad. His eyes really do twinkle. Or maybe that's just reflected candlelight. Faanshi shyly breathes, "I liked that very much..." Then, hesitant, hopeful, the lass raises her slender hand to seek out the bard's wet cheek. Her fingers smooth away raindrops from the leanly sculpted side of his face, setting off more of those alien flutters in her fingertips. The sense of it makes her drop her hand away along with her gaze, though her attention goes no farther than the Mongrel bard's chin. "Th... thank you for kissing me, Lyre, b-but... perhaps you should lie down now... your leg..." Lyre rubs lightly at his chin, slightly rough from stubble, and nods just a little bit. His smile makes his eyes crinkle as he slides one arm free from Faanshi and keeps the other about her waist, turning to walk towards the light of a warm doorway of an inn. "I think, dove, that sounds like a divine idea." As the rain splashes down around them, soaking them to the bone, Lyre begins to sing under his breath, "My lady love and I were walking through the rain..." A new song is born, and its notes trail off into the night to mingle with the plopping rain. [End log.]