Middle of Cryxatum,
First Month of Spring,
Era XV Post Fractum |
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Larien twisted her slender fingers through her long auburn hair, watching with a detached air as the silken locks wrapped themselves about her pale skin.
"Arwenamin," the elven man at her side prompted her gently. [b]"N’uma lye caela sai um?”[b] Already the twin suns sat high in the sky, hinting that it was getting well on in the brightening. The young woman allowed her pale emerald eyes to stray downward, grazing across her shadow that stretched along the cobblestones beneath her feet. Erivan was right, of course, but in the same breath, he was also mistaken. Larien might have appeared to be doing nothing… but looks could be deceiving.
“Uma, mellonamin, nan’ lye umien ta.”
Tilting back her head, the elfess folded her slender arms across her chest as a soft melody began to hum in her throat, her eerily light green eyes still watching the street through her dark eyelashes. But Erivan merely watched his employer, his sun-kissed brow furrowed, not quite comprehending. What did she mean? They weren’t
doing anything.
“Amin naa n’rangwien.” Already the end of the first month of the season was coming to a close and what had they accomplished? Virtually nothing. Such grand schemes blossomed in his employer’s mind – Erivan knew because he had been allowed to glimpse those very schemes – but they would all be for naught if she did not put them into action!
“Lye maa ar’ lasta,” Larien responded simply in her softly lilting way, the words of her native elvish rolling off her tongue like dew dripping from the edge of a leaf. Brushing her hands along the front of her embroidered skirts, the maiden then, quite suddenly, stepped out into the busy street of the city, merging into the sifting crowd as though those people gliding along were little more than the trees of the Tawnleaf. Forests were everywhere, if one just knew where to look. Erivan was close at her heels, of course, his icy blue eyes glinting like cool steel, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his longsword. Both of the Sylrosians moved with the grace inherent in their kind, though their grace was very different. Larien floated along as though she was dancing – her steps fluid and lingering - while Erivan moved more like he was walking on glass – lightly, carefully.
But the two were a pair nonetheless, lady and guard, and had been almost inseparable for the past few months. The only time the honey-haired male had been absent from the side of his employer had been when she was in the company of her lover Riconus Xind’ell, but even then Erivan had been close at hand, lingering in hallways and in shadows should Larien have a need for him. Away from Mateus Villa, the elfess
did have a need for him. He was one of the only people she could truly trust. He had risked his life for her in the alleyways of Medonia when the Cadre had decided Larien was no longer of use to the world. He would do so again in a heartbeat.
But, the gods willing, there would be no need for such a sacrifice on that brightening.
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