[Nessani Kemenlo]

The gypsy girl had to concentrate to hear his words above the pounding of blood in her ears. His rebuke was met with a hesitant nod of her head, though it had barely registered in her thoughts. She was going to have to get it together if she would learn anything today.

‘Relax your body.’ That was easier said than done when her whole body was tensed for flight in the underground room. ‘Breathe in the scents around you.’ There was something she could control, she thought, so she started there. Her eyes closed and she concentrated simply on breathing. Her nostrils sucked greedily at the perfumed air around her, breathing in the scents and allowing it to help her body relax.

His arms came around her and for a moment, all she could think of was his touch - it was better than dwelling on the lack of sky in the enclosure, she supposed. Her body responded to his touch like a lover, allowing him to guide her form at his will. It wasn’t until he stepped away that she realized in the sudden void that she had been holding her breath.

Her eyes remained closed and her chest resumed its greedy inhale of the air around them as she listened to his orders. Her heels lifted on command, leaving only the balls of her feet against the ground. Slowly, her feet lifted just a hair to adjust their width at his suggestion.

She found it was easier, working with her eyes closed. If she couldn’t see the lack of windows, then she didn’t dwell so much on the fact that they were underground. But greater than that, she felt more in tune with her body to make the proper adjustments, though she also had the benefit of being a dancer. She made a mental note to try dancing with her eyes closed sometime to see what feelings arose.

Her back stayed in the pose he had set as her knees bent, lowering her form and center of gravity. She waited until no more orders were forthcoming before finally opening her eyes, staring at a place on the ground a few feet in front of her. One foot rose, stepping forward. The ‘unnamed’ one flinched as it touched down with a gravelly crunch. Her arms rose of their own accord to off her aid in balancing as she took another step, this one managing a soft whisper.

The concept of stealth was not completely foreign to her. She’d had eras of practice, sneaking away from the vardos and her father’s watchful eye, each time she came up with a delightful scheme that was likely to meet with his disapproval. She had grown up, watching her mother’s polished movements, like Khalid’s, silent and graceful without effort. It was her mother, in fact, who had given Nessani her first lessons in thieving.

She continued her circuit of the room, each step, in her estimation, softer than the last. Her form, rigid and controlled in the beginning, began to soften, whether due to the incense or her practice as a dancer, she was unsure. Her eyes remained staring at a steady place, several feet in front of her, more to ensure she didn’t bump into the walls than out of a desire. In her mind’s eye, she imagined herself dancing through fields of poppies, careful not to crush the delicate crimson heads, as she circled her mentor.