"The Understanding of Souls" Log Date: 12/9, 12/10, 12/11/00 Log Cast: Faanshi, Mehul, Fenimos Log Intro: Faanshi's life has again seen startling change -- this time in the stunning pronouncement of the Queen that she, a meek shudra, is to take on the daunting task of becoming Thalia's Voice to the Sylvans. To appease those who would be outraged that a woman, a shudra, and a halfbreed would be given such duties, the Maharani has acquired a young kshatri, Salmalin al'Sar, to play the role of ambassador to the eyes of the city at large while Faanshi does the true work... though Salmalin al'Sar promises to be a challenge, for he is a drunkard and in disgrace with his Clan. But another change has come into the shudra's life, one whose import she does not yet realize, now that she has met a clanless Varati who possesses little more than dark secrets and the name Mehul, a man who finds himself unexpectedly lifted up out of an abyss of pain by the touch of a gentle healer's hand.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Late Morning Date on Aether: Monday, July 9, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: New Season: Summer Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* 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. Contents: Kosha Mehul Obvious exits: Street Garden Mehul A most impressive specimen of Varati strength, prowess, and heritage, Mehul stands talk, dark, and handsom at an easy 6'11". His skin is dark, flawless and smooth, carved from the rocks which form his lean muscles that wrap about his extremely tall and agile frame, a panther or a courgar, always on the prowel, always ready to strike. He carries an air of incredible strength about him, one to rival, if not surpass even that of the dreaded Agni-Haidar, and his beautiful features, almost feminine so in nature, but complimented with his masculine build, portraying yet a childlike innocence and interest. He is eager and dedicated. His hair is full and long, with a slight wave to it as it cascades behind him and stops short of his broad shoulders, accenting his fine chocolate flesh. And his eyes, charcoal, forever intense, churn and watch everything and nothing... all at once. These last few days, Faanshi has rather less freedom to wander off far from Atesh-Gah than she has in the past -- what with the new position the Queen has commanded her to claim. But because of this very change in her life, the young shudra has needed more than ever a chance to walk alone in the green places of the city, with none but her loyal dog at her side. And fortunately, because of that very dog, she can legitimately claim the need to get out of the embassy for a short time -- after all, it wouldn't do to have Kosha answer his natural needs within the embassy grounds. And so, as the dog romps about the park, the healer maiden slowly follows him, eyes full of plaintive consideration, though she occasionally lifts her face to the sunlight and the breeze to let them touch what little skin she is permitted to display to the eyes of men. She is not alone in this park this morning. Amidst the early hours of the freshly dawning day, a Varati is present among the trees, bathed in the dappled sunshine as it sifts its way through clouds and foliage alike. One of those massive brushes he is, strong, proud, and tall, rigid and impassive. Oh, and dark too. His eyes stare forward, distantly forward, gazing at once at nothing, and everything as well. His hands are positioned in front of him, outstretched, fingers unrolled and pointing to eachother, palms pressing against the hovering air in front of him. His heels, side by side, support his torso which is perched upon bent knees, passing either side of him beyond shoulder width, leaving him crouched, his muscles taut and straining. One then shifts, toes perking outward as the leg extends in front of him, that largest of the smaller extremidies tracing a line as it moves in a wide arc out to his left, stopping parrallel with his shoulders. The rest of his body, soon follows, all but the other foot. Crackles of twigs and a soft 'yurf' from Kosha are the first alert that the dog has come across the Varati man's chosen place for his exercises. Kosha quirks his head curiously, but he's hot on the trail of a squirrel and thus only pays Mehul marginal attention, long enough to ascertain that the fellow isn't doing anything of immediate interest. Faanshi, on the other hand... Faanshi. She lets out a little gasp as she stops some distance away, struck by the sight of the dark muscular figure who'd been making graceful music of each of his motions beneath the morning sun. Physical meditation. His upper body does follow that arcing foot, his waist still stationary, and his right leg still bent, supporting the whole of his weight which now rolls back on to its ball, the first, still extended now raising an inch or two from the ground, hands, formerly extended clenching in to gentle fists that draw within to his chest, breast level tucking beneath his underarms. There he remains as one slow... lingering breath is exhaled. Sweat is upon his brow, but he does not appear to be exerting tremendous effort other than that and the intensity of his unfocused eyes. But as the loosed breath comes to a conclusion, the right hand crosses his body, opening again to first tough his shoulder, then palm out, sweep back out in front of him, once more pressing at the air, his floating appendage lifting further now, level with his waist, perfectly parallel to the ground... and now his entire body turns, the whole of it, to face forward once more, hovering in that delicate balance, toes to the sky. There are Agni-Haidar and other warriors in Atesh-Gah, men who have oft practiced their prowess in the courtyard with deadly blades in their grasp; Faanshi has seen such men, though she has never dared look closely at them. Coming across this man _now_, she doesn't dare to look much more closely at him. A hot flush spills across her cheeks beneath her veil as she catches a glimpse of the darkly-hued back made whole by her own magic, skin unmarred and gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. Little individual bolts of thought burst across her mind, simultaneously: she should leave him be. Is he kshatri, if he is doing the sorts of things she has seen the kshatri men do in Atesh-Gah? Why does it strike her somehow as different to see someone doing this slow dance of strength and grace in this green place rather than in the shaped and crafted elegance of Atesh-Gah? And lastly comes his name, Mehul, abruptly slashing through her memory. Even as she peeks flusteredly after her dog and steps a pace in Kosha's direction, she remembers his name. The tension snaps! Forward the Varati moves, the raised leg kicks, once, twice, three times, four, rappid succession, then he spins, the leg in which all his weight is centered on propelling him in to the air, sending him in to a spin which brings that foot back out again in one last harsh and force movement, slamming the air, once could almost hear it howl in pain! He lands without the slightest flaw, sweeping in to the next, pivoting, a hand arching to block and imaginary blow, then fists, clenched reach out, loosing a flury of movements, punches and strikes with one last, a full body spin backhand, knee of his right leg drawing to his waist and he stops. It's done. He is slow and fluid again, just like that and he falls in to a loose shoulder-wide stance, hands at his sides. And he notices Faanshi. He blinks, averting his gaze. "Imphada!" Surprise, and his hands dart down, reaching for his shirt and throwing it over his head. He clears his throat to cover his embarassment. "I-I do not -- you should not call--" These words burst out of the maiden as she backs away, summer-leaf gaze plummeting to the ground, one slender hand raising up to her veil as if to help it cover her mouth. Now mightily flustered, she babbles in a tiny-voiced, apologetic addendum, "Pray forgive me for disturbing... I will leave you, Imphadi... m-my dog--" His voice is soft, an attempt to be soothing, but Mehul ceases his approach, also looking at the ground. "You did not disturb. Please, no, my apologies. I didn't mean to upset you at all. Please?" He dares to lift his eyes up to her and offers a small smile seen at the corner's of his lips... Those charcoal orbs darted once to Kosha before they lifted to Faanshi though, perhaps in an effort to summon the animal near? The dog halts in his pursuit of the squirrel, perhaps responding to that glance of Mehul's, or perhaps some other subtle gesture from the man. But he doesn't trot over, not quite yet; his mistress, in the meantime, murmurs humbly, "I did not know... this part of the park was occupied. The fault is mine." Faanshi has halted in her flight, though. Perchance because of the gentle tone used to her? "You need not be sorry at the fact that you walked in to a public place... It is for the use of us all, is it not?" Again that gentle smile and tender tone are offered as he exhales deeply, lifting his head from its bowed position. "I apologize if I startled you. Please, accept? I actualy, am glad to see you." "You are?" Clearly, this notion stuns the girl, for she utters this question in almost childlike baffled tones; is it often at all that someone says such things to her? A fraction of the tension in her slender black-saried frame seems to relax a bit. She might well be one of the park rabbits, trying to decide whether the hand being stretched to her holds a weapon... or food. Shyly, she appends, "All is well, Imphadi..." Still, though, there's that tone of uncertainty there. "I enjoyed our talk and walk last we saw eachother. I had a wonderful time, and pray you did as well. It is indeed nice to see you again." Mehul keeps his tone gentle, soothing, taking care not to alarm her, not to catch her off guard, and his feet stay still, where they are. He will not approach anymore, it is her turn. He will not give her any reason to turn on her heels and run. "Have you fared well since then?" Faanshi's gaze stays down, her hands clasping before her; her posture's that of a servant, who might be receiving orders from her master or mistress. "I am healthy," she murmurs towards the twigs and leaves beneath her sandaled feet. "You a-are kind to inquire, Imphadi... but, I..." A glimmer of curiosity, then, peeks through. Then again, it might be confusion, but whatever it is, it's enough to prompt Faanshi to ask, "But we did not talk much when we met before..." How, therefore, could he have enjoyed it? "Please...?" he asks shyly... embaressed, maybe even close to pleading, "Don't bow to me or call me Imphadi...? I'm no one special." He tries to draw her up with his own eyes and a soft, assuring, and winning smile. Here's hoping. "And even if we didn't talk much... that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy what time we did spend together." Another glance to Kosha. Come here buddy, show her how much you like me! It may be that the girl needs a bit of visual confirmation for the earnest voice falling upon her ears, for she does peek up timidly above her ebon veil. As she does, the dog does whurf curiously, trotting on saucer-sized paws over to the Varati man; his proud plume of a tail begins to wag. "I... I... thank you," Faanshi whispers, sounding stunned. "No need to thank me, really." Insisting, Mehul continues to offer that gentle smile of assurance and encouragement, while one of his hands moves to the dog, to run through his mane of fur, to the back of his neck and to scratch there, firmly, but not roughly.... juuuuuuuuuust right. The animal receives a look of appreciation, thanks, and the promise of more should he keep up the good show. "If... if you say so," the maiden murmurs, peeking over now at how easily Kosha seems to come to investigate the offered dark hands, and how those same hands so easily and amiably scritch her hound. For his own part the dog begins to broadcast bliss, the wagging of his tail picking up in speed and a big canine grin stretching his mouth. What a nice man! Oh yes, skitch him right there! Right there! "The... Varati do not... I mean..." And she trails off, flustered anew and too embarrassed to finish the thought. How can she tell a total stranger that she is accustomed to the Sons of Fire being less than tolerating of her mere existence? To have one expressing actual pleasure in her company is almost too much to fathom. "Well I'm not other Varati, hmm?" is his answer, and then in one slow motion he falls to kneel before the dog, both hands now reaching up to clasp the dog on either side of its face, scratching, and scritching away, behind the neck, ears, top of its head, under its chin, grinning at it and occasionaly reaching down to pat its side or back. Mehul looks up at Faanshi, he has no expectations of her... all he looks for is a companion right now, someone to talk and smile and share with. "Are... are you shudra?" That's the first thing Faanshi can think of by way of explanation for this stranger's friendliness. She can see no sign of a mark of a slave upon his brow or face; nor does he wear a slave's collar. Surely then he cannot be a naraki. Seeing that Kosha is happily surrendering to the bliss of the attentions of Mehul's strong dark hands, she ventures a few steps nearer. "I-I am but a shudra..." "I am Mehul" he replies with a chuckle, focusing in on the dog once more as he does so, turning over the animals head in his scratching wandering hands, combing through skin and fur with a friendly roughness. But he looks back up to her as again he pats the animals side, recognizing her seriousness and nodding his recognition of it to her question before replying. "I... do not know what I am... My parents died when I was young, and I was left to my own. I do not remember much." By now Kosha has plopped down on his haunches and rolled halfway over in veritable delight, though he also takes a moment to blow out a whuff of air as Mehul's attention distracts. Now, though, Faanshi's attention is solidly claimed. Her head tilts slightly sideways and a sudden deep compassion wells up liquidly in her eyes. "Of... of your parents, you mean?" asks she. "Yes... my parents... my childhood. I only remember flashes of images... a kind face... a harsh one... a feminine one... a masculine one..." Back on Kosha again the attention goes then, and he watches the animal roll over grinning at the fellow. Well now? Do we like out tummy rubbed and scratched, hmm? Mehul decides to give it a try as he looks back up to Faanshi, noting her compassion and flushing with embarassment of it, but at the same time looking to her with an expression of quiet thanks... Yes, yes we do like our belly scratched and rubbed, and you should scratch him some more right THERE! Not only does Kosha wriggle in canine ecstasy, one of his paws begins to thump. Another step closer comes Faanshi, unthinkingly eased as she is by her hound's reaction to this fellow. "But... all of your childhood?" Concern seems to strengthen her voice somehow, as if, given something else upon which to focus besides her own shyness, Faanshi is more easily coaxed out of her shell. "Was there no one -- none who raised you?" "No one but myself..." Comes the reply as Mehul obediently scratches wherever the dog bids him too, all over the stomach and chest, fingertips scratching and scritching, palms rubbing vigherously as his eyes, though falling downcast from time to time through shame or embarassment, remain mostly on Faanshi. Still a little hurt... and still thankful. Not once, ever, has Faanshi encountered such a tale. Oh, she knows of many a youngster in Bordertown without mother or father -- but even they seem to have someone, some aunt or uncle or guardian, _someone_ who looks after them whether badly or well. But never has she had a grown man admit such a thing to her, with pain she thinks she can glimpse in his eyes despite the stoic expression his features seem to take on... a combination that strikes her abruptly as all too familiar. Another step, and she's closer still. "That sounds... awfully lonely," comes her timid observation, her voice barely more than a whisper, but her eyes conveying her guileless understanding quite eloquently even without the support of her words. This pain... this lonliness... that word it strikes Mehul... the actual Mehul... it is genuine and true and it tugs at his eyes as he continues to scratch at Kosha, and stare at Faanshi. Her sympathy is a clamp on a bleeding wound and words of assurance, soothingly breathed in to a worried ear, the ear of a child. His voice to is barely a whisper now. "It is..." Is... not was... is. Embarassment slowly begins to fade from his coloring cheeks as she steps closer to him, lost to her presence. "You are... alone in Haven? No friends?" Faanshi sinks down to her knees, apparently unheeding of the sort of damage her silwar might take from kneeling upon the leaf-strewn, twig-covered earth. As she does Kosha lifts his head, tail wagging all over again, and he practically rotates himself in place to get his head around to her. Mehul might have a master scritcher's hands, but even he cannot quite match Faanshi, the greatest of Kosha's canine loves. Puppy adoration in his eyes, the big hound tries his best to climb into her lap in apparent oblivion to the fact that he is about ninety pounds too heavy to easily manage the feat. But as Kosha does this, the halfbreed maiden peeks unsurely at the man before her. Who is she, that he confesses such pain to her? Still, it is _pain_, and she cannot help but react to it. Her sungolden brow crinkled, she adds, "None who taught you the surahs... o-or of the Amir-al?" "I am alone..." Mehul replies as she comes to kneel and as the animal moves itself away from him. Fignertips still scritch and scratch until it is completely out of reach. His gaze has never left Faanshi. He doesn't exactly openly confess such pain... but his eyes express it... as well as the fact that he is unusualy comfortable with her... he senses her sympathy and familiarity... and it draws from him. There's just something... about her. "I know /of/ them... but I do not recall being taught." He shakes his head. Out of reach, perhaps, but not very far away at all. Faanshi is within easy conversational range now -- and Kosha is not a small dog. Only a few feet remain now between her and this strange Varati man, and perhaps the healer maiden is aware of that small gap, for her green gaze drops modestly down again to the hound who's now butting his head against her to get skitches from _her_. "I... am glad," she says then, sounding gently relieved. "The holy surahs are a comfort in times of pain... the Hawk of Heaven a-and his Holy Mother, a mercy even to... the lonely." This last is uttered barely audibly; Mehul is not the only one with experience in solitude here. And it's then that the realization of that fact reaches Mehul's eyes. He stares at Faanshi then with a profound sadness and compassion borne of familar experience. He knows, he knows, he knows! "You too..." he whispers, feather soft, his eyes as well momentarily falling downcast to the animal, though wishing hers were on him again. They provide, just by being there, a sense of extreme comfort and acceptance. How he wants acceptance. He tries to smile at her, his right hand twitching. The maiden's hands, slim and golden, make two patches of sunlight against Kosha's multicolored fur as she applies herself to gentler editions of the scritchings Mehul had just been offering. Sheepishly Faanshi then replies, "My... experience cannot match yours... I had... someone. My heart-mother, who raised me...!" There is much nervousness in her stance even now -- the forest rabbit still poised, unsure whether the hawk will pass by overhead, or pounce. But she does peek upwards once again. But understanding and compasion is what Mehul radiates... bothing but. And there is still that pain, that fearful pain of a young boy who grew all alone in the world... but yet never aged a day. Very slowly that hand lifts... and without a word other than a nod at her speech, is offered to her with a flickering shadow of a smile that does not touch those expressive eyes. The halfbreed goes very still, stunned to her inner core by the sight of a Varati man looking upon such as _her_ with such an understanding, considerate expression. Leaf-hued eyes go wide above her veil, still full of trepidation, and stare at the strong, dark hand offered her as though it brandishes a falcare to threaten her or her beloved dog. But it does not. It's a hand she's seen affectionately scritch Kosha, and when it is offered in conjunction with that understanding in charcoal eyes... her resolve wavers and falls away. Faanshi's daintier hand comes up, trembling, but -- victory! -- shyly drawing near to the proffered fingers. With a smile of utter gentle understanding... of tender appreciation for her movement, for her person... for her pain and sympathy... Mehul lets his hand lift, palm upward, slowly, to press against hers. He does not clasp, simply lets them rest as they are. And he looks at her with those same eyes. Except within them now is a sense of release, of relief. A breath being exhaled from them with the touch that says perhps... he isn't alone... and maybe accepted...? She is not as pale as many in Haven, this girl. But the contrast between the hand of Mehul and the hand of Faanshi is striking to the eye, chocolate against gold, sculpted muscular perfection against a palm and fingertips who might almost seem to possess no more substance than the sunbeams falling upon the wildflowers in the park. The maiden gazes forward now in startled wonder at the hands that touch above the back of her dog; as she does, her fingertips wobble in echo of her agitation. Those eyes upon her... she has not experienced their like, and another hot blush rises up upon her delicate coutenance, enough that hints of red begin to peek above the top of her simple veil. "I," she begins, feeling a growing desperate need to try to explain this strange connection growing between herself and this dark stranger, a stranger to whom all her experience tells her she has no right to feel connected, "I... had... no mother either... no father..." "Don't know where... or if you belong..." Mehul whispers in response to the girls explination, swallowing once as he stares at her, stares at her blush, feels her hand touch to his. That connection, that path between them through which unspoken emotion flows, the energy that melds between their eyes, the pain that is eased by either unconciously by their mere presence. "Wondering who you are..." he continues... captivated by her, unmoving... his eyes leaking compassion and thanks... so much thanks. She cannot credit it, or believe that it has sprung up. This electric current of connection, entirely outside her innocent experience, makes the shudra maiden's trembling seizes more of her body: hand, arm, the lips unseen behind her veil, shoulders. Already liquid of gaze, her eyes go liquid in truth, tears beginning to threaten at the corners. Whispering in reply, almost certain this compelling man will surely break the tenuous thread between them yet needing to utter the words, she whispers, "Knowing... why you're alone... that you don't belong...!" He's not going to desert her. He's not going to leave her.... alone... Not now, no way. His hand remains where it is and he continues to stare in to her eyes... his dark, charcoal ones trembling with the emotion that churns within. How can she touch him so? How can she understand? But she does... and it opens him... he feels... like he knows her. "It's all you can do to survive..." he whispers in a finality... swallowing again. He has been solid against her, a rock for her... yes... for her. He wont abandon her. The sense of support, an anchor, is no less palpable to Faanshi than the gratitude and stoically repressed pain in the gaze that holds her own. "In darkness," she breathes, "a-all alone... you are as nothing... you can only pray for deliverance..." She is not Atlantean. Her magic is of the mending of the flesh, not of the joining of minds. Why then, the maiden wonders wildly, does she feel as though this one knows her as no other has done before -- even a certain Mongrel bard she has lost? "A-and you keep... losing... dear ones..." "And must keep going... stumbling blindly..." That touch of flesh, it is so pure, so raw, so fluid, emotion flows through it like the rushing rivers, between the connected pair, electricity burning within their gazes, the air sizzling in front of them, so compasion, such understanding... Mehul's are pulled taut, tight with the sensation... but he keeps them open... keeps them to her. "following the only light you have..." He wants to be her rock, wants to be her anchor... and wants to take away her pain because he knows it so well, "the one inside... alone... all alone." There, now, are the tears: wetness trickling forth to dampen Faanshi's dark lashes, to make streams along what little is visible of her cheeks. Her black-swathed head nods slowly, once, twice, as the words resonate through her; her throat closes up, making it more and more difficult for her words to escape her. The dog has lifted his head again, wondering why the scritching of his fur has stopped, but now Faanshi has lost all awareness of his presence even though her other hand still rests against his ruff. "Mehul," she whispers, her tone a fragile one; it's as though she speaks within a dream from which she is not entirely certain she wants to awaken. "Mehul, I..." So slowly... a second hand now lifts... everything is nearly still motion... a dream, indeed. He, Mehul, remains silent out of respect for her silence, for the moment... But fingers do spread and a thumb... so tender, so kind to soft and dampened skin, brushed away the tears beneath one of Faanshi's eyes, above her veil, before lowering once more to rest atop now, that already established connection of skin between them. And never once, not even for the slightest second, does his gaze waver from hers. He is her rock, he is her anchor. He is that which understands her, that which shares her pain, her knowledge... he is who wishes to take away her suffering and claim it for his own... take take her burden from her and throw it upon ihs shoulders, because no one... especially her, should ever have to live in such darkness, forever alone. How much the eyes can communicate... His eyes are smoke-black, like her veil -- but where the gauzy silk conceals, hiding her features from sight and the expressions that play across them, that gaze upon her illumines what lies behind it rather than hides it. Transfixed, held motionless and barely daring to breathe under that magnetic stare, the shudra begins to wonder if indeed she dreams. This bond that sings from hand to hand and eye to eye cannot be truth, surely? But whether it is truth or illusion, dream or reality, it begins to command her secrets forth. "I... am tainted," she mumbles, the small stoic utterance doing absolutely nothing to offset the fear in _her_ eyes, the fear that if she speaks this thing, the dream will dissolve. Even this crackling sense of connection cannot quench her honor, the conviction that she needs to give the chance to retreat from the shame of her contact. "I am halfbreed." Mehul's head only tilts slightly to one side as she speaks those... or utters those supposidly cursed words that would drive him away screaming. He remains, the rock he is, his eyes unchanging in thei understanding, their compassion, their familarity and knowledge... and their affection. This connection. He doesn't care. His hands, both, clasp hers within them, one atop, one beneath holding her palm... It remains... and eminates, his resolve flowing through it. He will not abandon her to that lonliness. He wont. "I am Mehul." As if it were the same, as though it was the same as her name... just as meaningful as the beautiful word that leaves his lips, receiving no less affection, spoken with the same casualness that shows... it does not matter, and the same respect and confidence that shows... he is still here. And with that, without effort, almost without noticing, Faanshi begins to believe. The tears do not subside, not quite yet; the maiden's sentiments are like her magic, gentle and unassuming, yet no less powerful or intense because of this. If anything, the wetness flows all the more from her eyes from the force of her relief and wonder... and her gaze begins to brighten with something like hope while she draws in a long, shaking breath. She is not sure yet what this man is that he looks at her so, but perhaps, just perhaps, he is a friend. "A-all right," she whispers, awestruck, "Mehul." And that hand lifts once more to her face, to cup one side so gently, her cheek, over her veil, below her eyes is brushed again with that tender and affectionate thumb, to slowly dry away the tears, be they even ones of happiness, away. He just stares at her, and a smile begins to form, tugging at the corners of his lips. And now, it does touch those churning eyes... so full of an emotion which flows then, the valves opened, throughout his entire face. "Are you hungry, Faanshi?" he whispers at long last, so soft that a feather falling would have drowned it out. He wants to share with her. She has accepted him! It's hard to keep himself from trembling. Mehul's gaze had already pinioned her. His failure to flinch at the utterance of what to most of the People of Fire is her shame had begun to calm her... and now, the gentle hand at her cheek and the smile that lights his face continue that calming. Her tears slow, stroked away. The shivering of her hand within both of his begins to subside. Still, so overcome is the shudra that the utterly prosaic question catches her offguard, leaving her eyes entirely vulnerable... but now, almost peaceful. "I-I-I do not know," she murmurs, in perfect and self-startled truth. And so Mehul just nods at that, while his head remains tilted for his eyes to continue their adoring stare towards hers. No more alone... no more... no more. That hand remains as well... pressed to her cheek, and a thumb, with tender, soothing strokes, persists in its caress of the soft and stained skin beneath her eye... holding herr without embracing her and always maintaining the connection that hovers above her beloved dog. He has no problem at all with staying right here where he is... He might not have a problem... but Faanshi does. For the longest moment, in a tiny eternity of communion, she doesn't move. She might almost be bespelled, hypnotized, wide wet eyes more than a little stunned until the small rubbings of that thumb beneath them make them flutter a little. A memory flashes through her: another man's hand doing much the same. A tiny voice in the back of her mind breathes the bard's name... and although that alone does not break the spell, it's enough to open her thoughts up again so that other more recent memories can return. Memories of new duties and obligations, which make regret and a bit of alarm start to flood into those limpid summer-hued eyes. "Mehul... I... I cannot stay out of Atesh-Gah for long today... I must go back, they've given me... new duties..." "New duties?" he asks, his voice still wistful, distant, faded by the intensity of emotion and the serenity, the completion of the moment. His hand does not move, and the thumb continues its soft caress of her tear-staiend features. "Such as?" He's not questioning her as though he doubts her or is coming up withr eason for her to stay. He is just truly interested. He senses the change in her... but can not place it yet. "There..." It is still difficult for her to talk, her throat constricted, her entire being shaken... and his thumb is still tracing the small visible stretch of skin between her eye and her veil, infinitesimal motion of which she is nevertheless somehow bizarrely, exquisitely aware. "There is a new Voice to the Sylvans... I am commanded to be his Hand... I should not go far from Atesh-Gah, I-I-I have to make sure he is ready to meet the tribes... in the city, a-around it..." "You will be traveling so? Through Haven, through the woods? Speaking to Sylvans?" It's a struggle for Mehul to keep himself calm and collected. This he had not expected! And for the slightest instant it shatters all that he had unconciously built... his thumb... oddly enough... does not skip a beat. He starts to think over that as the thoughts of murdering graisha fade to the background... "A-..." He's about to ask, 'alone?'... and he's certain it's communicated in his gaze... along with the fact that he does not want her to be... ever... and so he decides in that single moment. "You should have a guard. Someone to protect you... ensure your safety." A pause as he stares deeply in to those eyes of hers... feels her through both of they physical connections... watches for the reaction of anticiapation to what he says next... "I could be your guard... I can handle arms... and would make sure that no harm ever came to you..." The last is spoken so softly... She wants to protest that she is only a shudra, and a tainted one at that -- she does not rate a guard, so far as Atesh-Gah is concerned. Certainly she has walked the streets of Haven on her missions of mercy for over two years with no guard but the big hound who loves her so. But now... things have changed. She has the Voice for whom she has been made responsible, and he is kshatri... and for all that he is a drunkard, he _should_ rate a guard. Moreover, she has looked in Mehul's charcoal eyes, seen their light undimmed by what for most others is her shame; thus, the protest that wants to spring to her lips has no force and no conviction. It dies unuttered. The deep resonant whisper of those final words makes her tremble, though. Her throat dry, the maiden murmurs, "I must... speak with the Voice... h-he may come with me, though I am bidden to do the greatest share of the work..." Expected, in fact, to do all of the work, but somehow the halfbreed girl has transmuted the command of the Maharani to include at least some expectation that Salmalin al'Sar will exhibit at least _some_ interest in the job that has been thrust upon him. "H-his Clan may give him guards..." "Surely though you must require a guard? One for you personaly? With his clan dedicating men to him alone, he'd want at least someone to protect you. And /I/ could do that." He pauses again his thumb stoping its caress of her skin only to stay stationary against her soft skin, his eyes nearly lidding at the feel of her... "/I/ want to..." No more alone, never again alone. Swiveling his head back and forth between the hunter and the maiden, the poor confused hound remains unnoticed; Kosha has not yet rejoined the thoughts of duty and obligation creeping back into his young mistress' mind. Too startling, too entirely new and compelling, is the notion that this Son of Fire without a past or a caste or a Clan to call his own has so suddenly and swiftly taken to heart her personal safety. She has seen Varati men his size before; before them, she has always been small, insignificant. Before Mehul she is still small, far more fragile of form than a woman of pure Varati blood would be... but it begins to seem to her as though she is anything _but_ insignificant, and the thought stops her breath in her throat. "I... I will... speak to the Voice... if you are sure... you would want to travel with us, to the Sylvans... I-I would be glad...!" "I am sure." There is no hesitation in his words, but they are not hurried. And they are punctuated by nods, two hard and decisive ones. He is beyond certain and his smile broadens, brightens, tugging completely at those emotion-filled eyes as he stares at her, his heart pounding within his breast. Faanshi has been smiled at before -- even by charismatic, attractive men. But the ones who have gotten her to look them in the eye are rare indeed, and rarer still are those who have smiled at her with such fierce, almost blinding feeling. It awes her. It humbles her. And it convinces her to turn her hand about in the one that holds it, fingers shyly clasping the larger and darker ones that enfold them. "Then I will speak with the Imphadi," she promises, in heartfelt earnestness. "Do you... do you want to come to Atesh-Gah? To speak with him as well?" She's holding his hand! She's taken and clasped it! Mehul, a shockwave of emotion rippling through his entire being, his thumb resuming it's oh so tender caress of her skin, returns the favor, squeezing lightly, affectionately. His eyes are so soft upon hers and his voice is a whisper, "Yes. I would very much like to." If not just to accompany you... he adds in silence. Her veil is hiding the timorous but nevertheless upward curl of each side of her mouth -- but even though the smile itself is unseen, its echo is coming up into Faanshi's eyes, rendering them clearer and brighter behind almost-vanised tears, like a ceiling of leafy branches shot through with sunlight. "Then come," she offers shyly, tilting her head slightly towards the north, for she is still held rapt by the black gaze holding her own. "We will speak with him together... and you can see Atesh-Gah, you are Varati... you belong there!" He belongs there... He... Mehul... belongs... belongs! A nod, and with a hesitant reluctance for fear of shattering this moment... the Varati slowly stands, always though, always clasping her hand, and not removing that caressing thumb until it is neccessary. That light within her eyes though... it assures him, and he helps her to her feet, staring down at her, gazing down at her, nearly becoming lost before speaking in a near breathless whisper, "Yes... lets go." [And soon, in Atesh-Gah...] Faanshi may never know the profound effect those few innocent words had on Mehul, the depth at which they struck him, shoke his being, his entire world. 'You belong there.' He... belongs... The Varati has still yet to relinquish the young woman's hand as they enter the Atesh-Gah now. Here he is to become her personal guard. And what a place! He has never been inside it before. He has seen it from the outside... even seen drawing and heard tales of its layout... but still, this is something completely different. He looks to her with those charcoal eyes, still flooded with the emotion brought to surface not so long ago... and still maintaining a smile upon ihs stony features. Only the Agni-Haidar themselves arguably are impassive enough not to give the shudra s second glance as she and her companion and the hound trotting along amiably at her heels pass through the gates of the embassy... even if she passes through hand in hand with a man of obvious Varati blood, towering over her by a good foot and more. Not even this sight can distract the Lions of Fire from their vigilant watch -- though one or two denizens of the embassy passing out into the city do small double-takes as they go by, recognizing the halfbreed, and wondering exactly what manner of man has decided to keep company with her. Faanshi, for once, does not notice them. She is simultaneously too flustered by the man at her side and too thrilled at the prospect of giving him something else with which he might connect to pay much attention to those who usually glance at her with disdain. As she walks with Mehul into the courtyard, she murmurs reverently, "This is Atesh-Gah... the place of the Amir-al, when He chooses to visit Haven...!" Fenimos passes between the heavy stone pillars that flank the entrance to Atesh-Gah, and joins you in the courtyard. Fenimos has arrived. "The Amir-al..." The words are whispers, tested and teasted over a tounge that finds them a bit difficult to swallow. Respect for the great God-King of course. Mehul does not like those Agni-Haidar however, and he finds it difficult to stop his hands from fidgeting over toward his own concealed weapons. But Faanshi's small embrace, that clasp and connection, succeds quite well where he might fail. "Impressive." Why he is whispering he is unaware, perhaps because she is? Funny thing is though, that those charcoal eyes rest nearly as much upon her as they do the sites she points out on this tour. Fenimos steps into the courtyard and glances around slowly, he looks like he feels uncomfortable without a guard watching him...he's become so used to it that it will take time for him to adjust. The burly Gladiator starts to slowly head towards the main building with his head downcast, the newest Gladiator for Khalida does not look to be glad that he is now the property of the God-King or his wife...no, this Gladiator has the look of one that will only be happy once he has won his freedom and can be rid of all those who think of people as property. Property. Faanshi is not quite property, but not much better... though unlike the gladiator who trails after her and her companion into the courtyard, she seems rather more resigned to her status. Once she crosses the gates into the embassy and steps into the courtyard, the shudra maiden seems almost entirely prone to keeping her gaze modestly lowered; it stays just high enough to keep her from bumping into anyone, or any other obstacles in her path... or to glance in this direction or that, to find something at which she might gesture with her free hand. "There is a temple here," she says shyly, "where the People of Fire gather to pray to the Amir-al... and there is a shrine for His Holy Mother, but only women may go to it." Her hand moves again, pointing with one delicate finger. "The stables for the wyverns are there... lesser stables as well for horses if they're needed, and a small kennel for the hounds." Nods and quiet hmms of recognition and admiration are Mehul's most general responses as he is led through the courtyard by Faanshi, his hand still clasped to her despite the bowed head. It is quite obvious, he does not care. And in fact, more than a time or two, his gaze seeks out her own, to bid hers upward again, or at least to catch a glimpse of her. "Where are the Agni-Haidar barracks?" he asks, quite absently. Fenimos stops and turns the gaze of his intense green eyes towards the others in the courtyard that don't appear to be on duty. The large Mongrel tilts his head slightly as his gaze comes to rest upon Faanshi, a hint of recognition appearing in his eyes. His gaze then switches to look closely at Mehul as if to size him up and figure out what his story might be...the hands of the burly Gladiator are clasped behind his back as he continues to watch the couple, barely even trying to conceal the fact that he does. "Inside the great building, there," is the maiden's reply, as she turns to gesture again towards the ornate doors that lead into the edifice which makes up the greatest bulk of the God-King's dwelling in Haven. "Most everyone who lives here dwells therein, from the kshatri sent by the Clans to speak in their names down to the shudra and naraki. And the Amir-al and the Maharani and His harem as well...!" As she turns, leaf-green eyes catch a glimpse of Fenimos, and something subtle shifts in the girl's stance, speaking perhaps of surprise. The dog has already noticed him as well, and Kosha quirks his head in the gladiator's direction, trying to size him up. You know... There is something similar between the dog's sizing glare and that of Mehul's. The Varati had noticed Fenimos long before either Kosha or Faanshi, and had met the man's stare without hesitation. He never yields. Strong he is, /very/ strong. Scrutinizing charcoal eyes crackle with smoldering, smoking sparks for a moment as he regards the Mongrel man and then, just as easily, dismisses him with, for Faanshi's sake, a very small inclination of greeting from a bowed head. "I would very much like to see the inside." He's returned his attention to the maiden whose hand he holds, clasps, that bond that has yet to break since they first connected in the park, the one through which emotion still flows. "Where would... personal guards stay?" And his gaze is once more upon her as well. Fenimos keeps his gaze on Faanshi for a moment longer and even the slight indication of a grin can be seen on his lips, he then turns his gaze towards a flower bed and starts to examine them...almost as if defying any of the expected mannerisms of his position, he is prideful and without a guard to continually prod him he is taking his old posture...that of a leader of men. His stance is military like and stoic, but his eyes soften as he looks at the flowers in the light of the torches and flames which illuminate the courtyard at night. His mind seems to be mulling over something, and try as he might to hide that fact it is evident on his normally emotionless face. She recognizes him -- that was the Mongrel who'd played the flute in the park. That alone is enough to make Faanshi pause and incline her head to him demurely, saying, "Namaste', Imphadi...!" Kosha for his part wanders over to sniff inquiringly at this newcomer to the courtyard, his own version of Hello How Are You and Welcome from the Atesh-Gah Doggy Patrol. But to Mehul, the shudra appends, "The personal guards of whom?" The question is enough to make her peek up over her veil, brow crinkled in query. Well now, he had thought that would have been implied by what he said. But... with an ounce of hesitation... Yes! The young woman receives hesitation where the gladiator was so easily shot down and dismissed!... he speaks up again, "Your, personal guard, Faanshi." His voice is too quiet to be heard by Fenimos. The man is practically, for the time being forgotten. Sure, Mehul knows he is still there, he also knows the dog, Kosha, has gone over to inspect, and even knows of the man's failed impassiveness. But Faanshi is the focus of his attentions, and that clasped hand receives a gentle squeeze. Fenimos squats down as the dog comes up to him, he extends a hand out to it in a friendly manner and offers a smile to it, "Ave, little one." His eyes rest on the dog, a warmth and happiness coming to them from this unexpected yet welcome visitor. He seems to show a greater degree of respect to this dog then to any others in the area, and so he reaches out his hand to gently scratch the top of the dogs head..if he is still aware of those around him he makes no indication of it as he just grins at Kosha. It's not often that Kosha gets called 'little' -- despite his ongoing evident oblivion to his own size and his conviction that his rightful place in life is _still_ Faanshi's lap. The hound does seem to approve of the friendly gesture and voice, nevertheless, and wags his tail a few times for the flute-player's benefit. Since Kosha is occupied for the nonce and his young mistress is reluctant to wander off without taking the time to put him in the kennels, the halfbreed healer contents herself with staying where she is for the time being, standing not far away. And besides -- Mehul's question appears to have daunted her. Down goes her gaze again, and she murmurs very humbly, "I... _am_ only a shudra, Mehul. It is... not truly proper for me to h-have a guard, formally." Guards, after all, are not wasted on servants. Even if the servant in question happens to have enough healing power to rival many of the Atarvani. And _especially_ if the servant in question has... tainted blood. "I think..." Ushas! How awkward it is, to try to offer her opinion to a man. To a _Varati_ man, for all that his charcoal gaze is looking down on her as though she is the only thing of interest anywhere in sight. "I-I think we should speak with the Voice first...?" "And I am Mehul..." is his reply to her protest. That is said with a definate tone of soft affection, one which draws yet another brief squeeze of her clasped hand and a broader smile on to his lips. He does not overly show his feelings here however, as he is certain this, being as public as it is, is not the place for such things with someone of her station. It is not that he is ashamed, that statement proves that point, but it is out of respect for her and to save her any embarassment or discomfort. "But yes," he nods to her, "We should speak first with the Voice." The soft, yet high whistles then echo from pursed lips and Mehul's head turns to the dog and gladiator. "Kosha. Here." All pleasentness. The stranger may follow the animal if he wishes, but Faanshi does not enjoy being seperate from her pet and he would like to have it near again himself. Fenimos continues to pet the dog softly, his face still showing hints of joy....that is until the whistle is heard and the dog is called back. The Gladiator frowns for a moment and his visage returns to one of emotionless...his eyes follow the dog and once more he casts a glance at Faanshi and Mehul, eyes lingering for a moment before he turns. Slowly he makes his way up the stairs towards the double doors, his gaze is now downcast and he makes eye contact with none that he might pass. Kosha lifts up his head abruptly at that whistle, responding to it as though he had trained with Mehul ever since he was a puppy; the man simply seems to have that sort of commanding presence about him. It even makes Faanshi blink, for it's not the usual whistle she herself invokes to get the hound's attention. For a moment she blinks back and forth between Fenimos and the dog, her gaze not without sympathy for the former -- for she can feel, indeed, for a Mongrel man who must have been brought as naraki into Atesh-Gah. Why else would he be here? But the same commanding presence that the big Varati at her side exerts over the dog also seems to have a pull upon _her_. "D-do you wish to go and seek him out...?" she asks timidly. "I would like that very much..." Mehul is smiling at Kosha, while watching, from charcoal eyes that do not actually follow, the retreating back of Fenimos. Once in range, the dog receives its favorite thing in the world out of gratitude for returning to his side... scritches!!! Thats right, atop the head and behind the ear, fingers rub and scratch and play and he chuckles at the large beast. "Shall we then?" he says at last, turning back to Faanshi and smiling at her, gentle emotions echoing between their hands. "And you too Kosha!" he exclaims, keeping his normal speaking voice though. Fenimos ascends the stairs to Atesh-Gah's sturdy double doors, allowed past by the ever-present Agni-Haidar. Fenimos has left. Oh bliss! Oh rapture! Oh joy! Oh skitches! Kosha wriggles all over as Mehul takes the opportunity to lavish attention on him, radiating his delight with every furry inch of his doggy body, right out to the magnificent tail wagging steadily back and forth. Watching this, still kept close by the grasp of the Varati's other hand, Faanshi peeks over her shoulder at the doors through which Fenimos had vanished, considering. "We should go within, then... but I will have to put Kosha in the kennels, he is not permitted inside..." And Mehul nods with a small sigh, squeezing that hand of Faanshi's which he clasps so affectionately. "Lead the way." he says, offering her a smile and a sympathetic scitch to Kosha because he will have to be left behind. "I'll see you later though, hmm?" he says to the animal, patting its side with a soft chuckle. "Come," says the maiden then, turning to guide both the hound and her companion off to the kennels where Atesh-Gah's dogs are kept. "We will put Kosha way... then see if we can find the Imphadi al'Sar... it is this way...!" Her soft voice drops away in volume as the pair of them head off towards the stables and the kennels beyond, and soon enough, they are out of sight. _Now_ what? Faanshi isn't exactly at ease, having discovered that the man she is in theory supposed to be assisting now is less than... available. "The Imphadi is indisposed," one of the other Clan Khalida shudra has told her: Jamila, the plump older woman who has grudgingly assisted in trying to make Salmalin al'Sar as presentable as possible. Faanshi hasn't dared to ask exactly what 'indisposed' has meant, especially in front of Mehul -- to whom Jamila has bowed with deference, relieved that he cuts a much finer figure of a man than the new ambassador to the Sylvans seems to do, so far. Now, coming back out into the early afternoon, the halfbreed girl seems a bit at a loss. "I could... show you some more of the grounds," she proposes to Mehul timidly as she leads him toward the fountain. "This place... I like it here." Mehul, still clutching the dainty hand of Faanshi in such a tender caress of affection and dedication follows in to this new area, his eyes, for once, actually leaving her to stare at his surroundings. "It's magnificent." he whispers befure turning one of his most winning smiles upon her, one of encouragement, a gift of strength between their bond. Without Kosha trotting along at her heels, especially within the walls of Atesh-Gah, Faanshi seems even more fragilely shy of demeanor. But here near the fountain, she peeks up the span of inches between her eyes and those of her companion, aware that he's _still_ holding her hand and flustered by this knowledge yet inexorably drawn by that smile. "I... like it here," she confides earnestly. "I like to listen to the water... and around dawn you can hear the singing of the Ushasti...!" "You would listen with me then?" is the gentle whisper that eminates from the man, as he gazes down upon her with gentle and managed adoration and affirmation. He wont lose her, he wont abanndon her, and above all, though hell should bar the way, he will protect her. "Listen with me?" They may not be able to hear it... but allowing her to take the first step, should she, he leads her to the fountain's side and readies himself to sit beside her on the windblown grasses. Faanshi's black-covered head nods once, twice, and she steps along at Mehul's side to sink down onto the earth not far away from the masterwork of sculpture and water that is the fountain. "It is soothing," she whispers, "the sound of the water... ever since I came to Atesh-Gah I have thought so..." Eyes close, and Mehul lets out a very long sigh of contentment... he feels safe... he feels secure... and it is all because of this woman before him. His other hand too now clasps her onw, both cupping on either side, holding, caressing and pulling it to rest on the grass-padded earth between them as he listens. He hears the fountain, hears the tender breeze, and hears her... her heartbeat through her wrist, her soft breaths which echo in his very soul... As though she were a little blackbird coaxed into landing by Mehul, Faanshi settles down at his side, her hand fluttering a bit in his grasp, her breath seeming to come a trifle short in his keen hearing. Still very conscious of the uncanny sense of connection that's sprung up between her and this man, Faanshi breathes tinily, "They... say out in Haven... that the Varati are w-without hearts but they do not see the beauty herein... things like the fountain. And the temple of the Amir-al...!" Shyly offered, these words, perhaps both in unconscious reaction to the bond between her hand and the one that holds it and because she feels almost... compelled to speak, to see if the bond remains true. And perhaps, too, simply because she hopes her words are welcome. "I think it to be truly beautiful..." Mehul breaths through another long exhaled breath. He squeezes her hand with both of his and his lips, already smiling, flex and curve still more as his chest rises and falls so slowly. Like this he remains for a time, breathing in his environment... and her... the world about, feeling her in all senses through the beond and the air, her feel and her scent. And all the while he greets her with pleasent and encouraging demeanor, one that coes understanding and affection in tender tones. "As do I you..." The last comes as charcoal orbs, crackling with striking sparks within the smoldering smoke are revealed once more to her... and he waits... unchanging from the man she has known thus far. A little shiver courses through the maiden at the compliment -- part shy pleasure, part reflexive surprise and embarrassment. She has been called beautiful before, but somehow, Faanshi hasn't yet been convinced she is worthy of such an utterance. At best, she has learned what is polite to say in reply, but it's almost all she can do to manage that. "Th-thank you," she stammers, gaze dropping bashfully downward again, her voice going very small. "You are welcome Faanshi. Please, don't bow your head to me?" He pauses, his own embarassment showing at her act of subservice, his cheeks coloring. "Please? Look at me...?" She is not the only shy one, he too is bashful, quite so apparently, beneath all that Varati impressiveness, that phyiscal prowess, he is a child... one who does not want to be alone anymore... and one who doesn't want her to be alone anymore either. He /will/ protect her. Hands are squeezes and he swallows hard, still smiling, still staring, bidding upward. "You are..." he whispers, restating his compliment. Both coaxed and compelled, dazed by the impact that this dark stranger's force of will -- conjoined with that childlike shyness beneath it and his own beauty -- is having upon her, Faanshi looks upward again above her veil. Now, though, there are the beginnings of renewed tears in her eyes. "I-I... I am sorry," she murmurs, chagrined. And humble, always humble. "I am not used to... I-I mean..." "No apologies either..." Faanshi's hand is lifted now, lifted from the grass held within the air and near to him, inches away from him... Her pulse, he feels it like a raging river throbbing through her veins, the hot blood, searing, burning... but blissfully. "No need to be sorry..." he whispers... that encouraging smile renewed as his eyes because taut with emotion, pulling downward at the corners from the tentative expression below. "I-I-I... never know... what to think," Faanshi murmurs, beginning to feel a little light-headed with that charcoal stare upon her, her hand held captive between the two bigger ones. "B-because I... am halfbreed... they say m-m-my face..." Her brow begins to crinkle up, and the liquid eyes the color of summer itself meet those of Mehul; her gaze stops there, held as surely as her hand. "Is... shameful..." The veil flutters to the ground, carried by the breezes to fall lightly upon the grasses, dismissed... and forgotten. Mehuls hand has risen from Faanshi's... it is now upon her features, bare and exposed to the day, to his charcoal, crackling vision. He cups her cheek, caresses her face, her chin... his head shaking as it tilts gently to one side to study her with a gaze of the utmost tender affection. "It is beautiful." is his reply. 'You are Shudra, I am Mehul... You are Faanshi.' That bond pulsates with the lifeblood of the pair, still clasped so firmly, receiving a squeeze as he continues to smile upon her, to look upon her with an emotion-taut expression... pained and blissful at once. Faanshi's eyes go round and her breath stops entirely as the dark fingers reach in beneath her sari and find the silver chain that holds her veil in place -- and then pull it forth to turn it over to the whims of the breeze. This leaves her sungolden visage open to Mehul's deep scrutiny, from the delicate black brows above her eyes down to the tiny pointed chin. Her nose, small at the bottom, a bit too long for classic beauty, giving her face an ever so slightly lupine cast. And there's the blush, coursing across her cheekbones, turning sungolden skin to a duskier hue. With his hand upon her chin, her gaze can go nowhere else but his own, hypnotized. "You... think... you think so?" she barely manages to murmur. It's a breathless whisper, and Mehul is closer now... more so than he was before, the distance between them has deminished, elbows bent more where hands still clasp to maintain that wonderous bond between them through which unspokena dn uninhibited emotion so freely flows. "Yes..." Nearer still, his hand upon her face, those caressing fingers upon chin and cheek, drawing her, pulling her, milimeters at a time, "I..." and he is all but upon her, his face a presence looming before hers, in front of hers, filling her vision as she fills his... the wold is gone, all that exists is this... is them... and the sound of that fountain, echoing the beating of their hearts and the raging river of lifeblood that pounds through them both. "do..." And lips press. Mehul kisses Faanshi, an embrace of soft and yielding flesh so tender and pure. Time itself creeps to a halt and the universe goes black. Then he is away from her, in front of her again, staring deeply in to her eyes, shuddering breaths leaving him parted... She cannot tell whether it happens swiftly or slowly; for Faanshi, time abruptly seems to behave very strangely. The maiden's entire slender frame begins to tremble as her lips are met and claimed, and when Mehul pulls back at last, her features are full of intermingled alarm and fear... and the modest flush of a maiden who cannot help but react powerfully to such a kiss. Speechless, stunned, she looks just a little bit to her left and right, wildly. One hand lifts up towards her cheek without connecting, blindly in search of her veil. He respects her. He will not let her be unduely uncomfortable. He finds her veil for her, and aids her in reconnecting it to once more conceal her face, but Mehul's smile never vanishes and their bond, their connection throbs assurence, and oddly... a very smilar fear to the one she portrays. He is scared... and beneath the nearly blidning affection of his eyes, it is there, trembling. But he doesn't need to be scared iwth her, something tells him that... and he hopes that she feels it too. "You... you did..." Ushas. Look what he did! Faanshi trembles all over, trying to decide whether she's dreaming even now -- especially when Mehul's fingers brush once again beneath her sari, over her ears. Her _ears_. That contact especially makes her tremble. But at last she winds up with his hands just before her, and gingerly, hesitantly, she lifts up her own to settle upon them. She _can_ sense... something. A sense of assurance. Of profound safety such as she has hardly ever known. And she needs the contact to affirm it. "Mehul... you..." Kissed her. Ushas, you kissed her! Hands clasp and hands hold, while lifeblood throbs through them, each beat of a pounding heart a communication of sensation, emotion, thought, through their unspoken bond of his own fear, and affection, of his reassurance. 'I will protect you. I will make sure no harm ever comes to you again. I know... I understand...' His strength is her strength, it is there for her to take, his breath is her breath, to fill her lungs should she need to speak... He is here. "Yes... I did..." It's spoken in a whisper, nearly tentatively. Mehul is worried, but so far... the reaction seems good... "I... am in mourning, Mehul..." It seems to Faanshi, almost, as if she cannot speak except to match his voice in volume. She can barely move, barely breathe, as long as his gaze commands the attention of her own. But even thus held, those words must escape her, full of confusion, lingering grief, and profound unsureness. "I-I-I lost... someone..." Even as she whispers this, her tears threaten anew, though they're as of yet just a sheen of wetness across her leaf-hued eyes. Eyes fall downcast briefly... but no! He will not desert her! Not when she is baring herself to him, not when she is confessing her heart and her pain to him! This is what he is here for! He squeezes her hands with the dearest of affections and sympathies. The pain of loss, the life alone... so alone... "I am sorry..." Mehul whispers, feather soft, meeting her gaze again. "I am sorry..." He repeats it... and he is sincere. But this, this bond, this connection... he is selfish! He wont let it go! And anger burns inside at himself for that greed... self-anger that she can probably feel within him. He is torn between supporting her... and giving her the space she needs. "This... this is why I am wearing black... usually I-I-I just wear the colors of Clan Khalida, you see..." Oh yes, Faanshi can sense the anger roiling somewhere beneath Mehul's surface, and it disconcerts her even as he continues to hold her attention, keeping her almost mesmerized. The words bubble up out of her in an attempt at explanation -- as the back of her thoughts lingers on the memory of a Mongrel bard who'd held her close. But the tension in his hands and the stirring behind his eyes, troubling her, makes her clasp his hands in a different attempt entirely, one of comfort. It's easier to talk now, with her veil once more in place, though she still shivers at the memory of those hands about her head. "I just thought... y-you should know...!" "I thank you for sharing that with me Faanshi..." His voice is low, soft, feather soft, and gentle as charcoal spheres, still crackling, smoldering, droop, downcast, releasing her from him. He wont imprison her with his eyes. However he still holds her hand with both of his, clasps it, even with renewed attention and resolve, squezing it. Deep gentle tones flow from his lips carrying with them sorrow and remorse, laying out before her the true source of his anger. He stares at their bond, their connection, the one he can't make himself relinquish. "And I am sorry, very sorry." Sorry for her loss, and sorry for his selfish being. A glimpse is thrown upwards toward her, stay strong for her, you wont abandon her. Not alone again. Not alone. Even as Kosha had responded to the big Varati's presence, so does the maiden respond to that soothing. Tension eases out of her hands and eyes, cajoled away by the gently murmured words given her and the hands holding her own. There's grief behind the summer's green, enough to make her eyes flutter shut for a moment, but they come open again with gratitude there as well. Shyly, softly, she confides, "He... was killed... some months ago, far away... a seeress I-I know Saw it... told me." "He must have been a wonderful man..." Softly murmured through lips that can barely seen to be drawn taut upon a downcast face, strained with emotion, struggling to keep the frown from them... for her. Strong for her he has to be. "I am truly sorry." He is. He still can't let go! How horrible of a man to do this to a woman still in grieving, to hold her, kiss her, and refuse to relinquish her when it is obvious she is so in pain over a loss that occured so recently. He is torn. But he will not abandon her. So selfish. Argh! Charcoal eyes churn miserably... sympatheticly, compassion reigning strong upon them amidst his ever present affection for the woman of whom he beholds. Though her loss is still very present within her heart and head, still Faanshi cannot help but see the strain upon the dark countenance so close to hers. She falls silent for a moment, her gaze very full as she takes in the struggle etched in Mehul's features. "Do not be ashamed," she entreats then, fervently. Small sungolden hands give a tentative squeeze to the bigger ones with which they are entwined. "I-I should have said... I just... you are Varati! But none of the Varati have asked... I've been afraid to say... I was not sure if anyone would care..." There aren't many masters, after all, that spend much concern over the grief of servants. And for all that the People of Fire _are_ half this maiden's blood... they are also her masters. "Ushas must have heard my prayers... to bring you to me, now...!" With each word spoken, with each soothing tone of assurance and affection, Mehul's head, locks of blackened hair tumbling back away from his downcast face, lifts to once more be bathed in the sunlight and the glow from which this beautiful woman eminates. He squeezes her hand, his entire face, those impassive features so finely chizzeled and yet still feminine in their beauty, taut with restrained emotions. Strong for her. She accepts him. She... she's thankful for him! For this. For that kiss?! "Faanshi..." he whispers, bated breath released as the word rolls from his tounge, tested, tasted, as though it were the most beautiful thing in the world for the ear to hear. What else he can say he doesn't know, so her hand receives another affectionate crush from his as he pulls it closer to him, nearer to him and stares in to her eyes, deeply in to her eyes. Faanshi takes heart from the easing in Mehul's entire being; he might have banked the fire in his eyes that dazzled her so, but she is still held rapt by this big Varati's vulnerability... and beauty. "They tell me," she breathes, "h-here in Atesh-Gah... everyone has their own griefs... their own problems. M-my Clan, they turned their face from me. I've lost dear ones... but you..." Her eyes meet his, and her hands, tugged closer to him, squeeze his fingers yet again. "Merciful Mother, you have had no one...!" For the shudra girl, this strikes her as far worse than anything she has suffered. "I have survived," Mehul protests, insists with a slow shake of his head once, twice, three times, hair tossed to the winds and eyes again smoldering, smoking silently, the charcoal black crackling beneath. Always, are they on Faanshi. "And..." he says with a pause and a illongated breath, "it has brought me here..." He has eased, indeed he has. She has accepted and taken him in to her heart. But what does it mean, where does he go from here? Has he accepted her kiss, accepted him as partner? The favor is returned to her hand from its position now only a mere inch away from his chest. Their bond still throbs with emotion and affection... and the pain, the pain of knowing no one, of living an entirely lifetime alone, in darkness. Accepted him, most assuredly. As what... Faanshi's innocent heart does not yet know. "Here," she agrees gently, "a-and if the holy fire of the Amir-al warms even me... the least of His children... so too must it warm you! And perhaps we can discover where you come from... here, where you belong, the refuge for all the Most High's people...!" Gentle, each and every one of these words, but Faanshi's voice grows slowly and steadily stronger, resonant with conviction; her healer's heart draws out that comfort even without her knowing, answering that lost child behind the crackle and smoke in the dark stare that drinks her in. "Thank you... Faanshi..." It's a whisper a murmur, one of pain, sadness, loss, and such exteme gratitude. How can she know him? How can she feel him? That bond throbs, pulsates, resonates to the very core of his being, his soul and he shares with her, pours in to her. And here he wanted to lend her his strength, now look... she's the one comforting him. "And here... there is you." An absolution in that statement and another bated breath follows it. He does not tense this time, he does not fear. Instead he squeezes her hand and caresses it with gentle fingers, its back, its palm, holding her, feeling her. Here, indeed, is she: shy little shudra, almost tiny next to the towering Son of Fire, though many in Haven would not call her small. Healer who has soothed wounds of the flesh, and who all unknowing has reached in to soothe wounds of the heart as well. Little blackbird, fragile and grieving... but growing bespelled again by the combination of strong dark hands and emotive dark eyes focused so thoroughly upon her. "Yes," she murmurs, "I... I am here!" "Tell me about yourself..." he asks in a whisper, squeezing her hand within his again, once.... twice... three times. "Where you're from... anyhting about you... anything at all." Eyes probe deeply in to her, smoldering yet glimmering at the same time with a subdued passion, an affection which grows with each passing moment shared between them, one that pulses through that bond of shared flesh. He seems to shift, does Mehul, and the back of the maiden's mind senses it. It's not a fast change or an abrupt one; rather, it's more like the change in shadows falling upon the forest floor as sunlight filters through clouds and treetops to reach the earth. Or perhaps like a shadow cast by a hawk gliding unseen above those same treetops, slow but inexorable, just on the edge of the senses. There is a bereft child in his eyes -- but there too is that hint of fierce passion. They shift back and forth, first one dominant and then the other, and the alterations command Faanshi's attention... like staring into firelight. Between his magnetic stare, the bubbling of the fountain in the back of her hearing, and the hands that still hold her own, she goes still and transfixed, gazing up at her companion as though she has forgotten there is anything else in the world. "All right," she hears herself answering, "I... I-I am shudra... you know that... I serve Clan Khalida, I have for the last three years..." "What about before that...?" he asks, squeezing, pulling on those hands near to him as though with that tug he could draw her out and to him, her soul, her heart.... her love. And of course, answers. That smoldering gaze is eternaly hers, burrowing, nestling within, embracing, enveloping.... warm assurance, burning passion, a promise of safety and affection, and of a shared and all but unbearable pain that he will protect her from. She could almost drown in that smoldering charcoal, she muses... or perhaps become immolated by the heat that sparks within it, as if she were a fragment of coal herself. But that same warmth captivates her. Its promise of safety lulls her, lets her hands be tugged where Mehul wills, drawing the rest of her a fraction of an inch closer even as her hands come to rest against his chest. "I was with Sarazen... m-my mother's Clan. The Warlord had me locked away," comes her whisper, in almost dreaming tones. Against his chest. Her hands, upon him... only a layer of fine forest green clothing between her fingers and his flesh. His heart beats against them... and if it doesn't, he guides them to rest atop it, so she can feel him, the essence of him, that which gives him the gift of life itself, and that which, for now, beats only for her. The bond is strengthened nearly ten fold and his eyes churn wildly for a moment, sparks lighting about those charcoal orbs, smoldering, burning, and subsiding as the sensation passes, but never leaving completely. "Locked you away...? Sarazen..." /That/ he will remember... "About you..." he whispers, so feather soft. "Tell me all about... you." Not facts of her past, not things about others that just happen to pertain to her. He wants to know about /her/. Yes he wants to know what has happened to her, but from her perspective, her emotions and feelings, not someone elses. Her magic is dormant... but still, nevertheless, Faanshi has always been sensitive to the states of those she touches, whether physical or mental or spiritual. The pulse of life just beneath her palms colors her senses, adding to the spell being woven about her. Making her, at least for this moment in time, entirely his. Slowly, Faanshi's head bobs a single time and her voice is slightly breathless as she answers tinily, "Yes... for... all my life! H-he was my mother's husband... she sinned against him, you see... took a lover... the Warlord killed him... m-my father. A-and locked me away... I was... so _scared_...!" Firmly her hands are pressed against his chest, toward his heart, the heart that beats for her, that throbs with his being, his soul, that eminates the affection the passion that he possesses, all for this one woman before him. Mehul's expression taut, he nods, studying her with those smoldering eyes, burning with sympathy, compassion, his breth shaking with sadness and anger. How could he do that to her?! "Oh Faanshi..." he whispers, shaking his head. He will protect her! He will! And it resonates through their bond. It is not the first time she has spoken of her past... but it is the first time Faanshi has been engulfed in such an ardent stare, enveloped in an dizzying feeling of safety and refuge, potent enough to forbid her any space to mistrust it or do anything else save lose herself within it. She is light-headed with the impact of it... and there is firmness and strength beneath her hands, towards which she unconsciously leans a fraction of an inch more, a flower needing sunlight, a vine seeking the strength of a tree around which to twine. Her eyes stay wide above her veil, entranced. And out come more words, her voice gone a little higher, childlike, plaintive. "He cut my ears," she breathes. "A-and I prayed... each day and night... for deliverance, until the Amir-al called the Clans to war... he took me with him...!" "Faanshi...." Closer... he pulls her close her, presses her hands to his chest, rubbing, caressing their backs. "I'm so sorry..." He knows it will get better though, it has to! It must! His arms twitch... and he suddenly feels the urge to enfold her in an embrace... but resists for now, his eyes fixating on hers. He will protect her! Safe... protected... and again, dizzy from the impact these sensations have upon her. There may be a bereft small boy in Mehul's eyes, but within Faanshi's is a little girl, peeking out from behind Sylvan green as her gaze goes ever so slightly unfocused, ever so slightly dazed. "The Most High delivered me," she pipes softly, without hesitation. "He sent Imphada Kiera to save me, a-and I came to live here... I'd... never seen a city before! It was so big, s-so many people..." Her sungolden brow crinkles, just a bit. "I am... not sure I'm used to it, even now...!" "And now you're here..." He whispers, glancing down at the hands that are pressed to his heart... a part of his heart, to which she is connected, without and within. "I am thankful he did... and will have to offer Him a prayer so tonight..." Once more that smoldering gaze is staring in to hers, that child within, reaching out a tentative hand to the little girl who lay scared and alone. Both alone... but he beckons her out from behind those walls of green, beckons her to him. He will love. It would be easy, very easy, to enfold her slender frame in welcoming arms; does she not lean even closer now, as though her body already seeks the comfort her mind seems to balk at letting her accept? Do her eyes not gaze up into his, their pains as readable as the trail of prey through the undergrowth, and do her hands not quiver there where they are gently and insistently held between fingers and chest? Could it not perhaps even be concluded that the Hawk of Heaven has brought her to this place for no other reason than to be brought to Mehul... to erase solitude with her presence? "I will show you the temple," she whispers, voice still a little overhigh, dazzled, "and the place to burn the incense within..." Poor Kosha... cought in the middle of this all. Hands slowly leave those which are pressed against Mehul's chest. And they reach out, toward Faanshi's shoulders, clasping first them, before caressing, and sliding back further around her. He embraces the woman, he takes her within his arms and presses her... her in her entirety to that beating heart. He opens himself to her and enfolds her, his eyes closing as his head comes to rest against her temple. "I would like that... Would you... pray with me?" he asks... feather soft... his only regret in this motion being that of no longer being able to gaze within her eyes. A soft shuddering breath escapes the maiden, but she sways into the embrace nevertheless, her head spinning, just a little. So dizzy she feels, but here are strong arms giving her a haven, a muscled chest against which she leans, its heartbeat filtering into her on a level she more unconsciously senses than consciously hears... though she can almost fancy that her power responds to it, aligning her heartbeat with his own. One arm slides around him, while the other hand rests against him not far from her dazzled eyes. "Yes," she murmurs dreamingly, peeking at her own hand. "I will... pray with you. I will..." "Good..." Mehul whispers, letting lose from his body a long and shuddering breath that shakes him... and her within his embrace as he holds her, and squeezes her slender drame affectionately, holding her to him, against him, within him. He feels her heartbeat, feels it in time with his own. For the time... it seems as though they may be one. And he is hers and hers alone. He is her guardian, her protector... and her love. His head nuzzles hers, his cheek and nose against her temple and hidden hair. "A prayer of thanks...... for you." Faanshi has never been drunk... but she has fallen victim, just once, to dust blown by masked Sylvans over a sacred ritual of the Varati. A dust that swept euphoria through her senses, and put a distance between her and her self-control. This giddying connection binding her now to the man that holds her is almost like that -- alarming, yet utterly compelling, and she has no will to do anything but shiver along with him, and again as he nuzzles the very top of her head. That gentle touch and the words he breathes into her ear complete the spell upon her, holding her in thrall as securely as he holds her in his arms. She is unaware of the resolution which has leapt up within his heart, the swiftness with which he has dedicated his heart and soul to her, but still she is lost within his presence and the soothing bliss of his consolation. He wants to say prayers of gratitude to the Amir-al... for _her_. That thought falls like rain upon the desert, and as it soaks through Faanshi's mind, she begins to quietly weep from the relief of it all. [This scene was never truly finished. Here, therefore, the ending of a log, but the beginning of the bond between Faanshi and Mehul.]