Silvertip Mountain The panic of your dreams keeps you awake

Her voice was alluring, a thick accent he could not place giving all her words an exotic tinge. He realized he had been staring at her speechlessly when they were thrown into awkward silence; she had finished talking several long moments ago.

Phocion laughed sheepishly. "Yes," he said quickly, trying to hide his embarassment at his open captivation, "I am a night owl. I much prefer the stars to the sun."

"Where have you come from to settle here?" he added, changing the subject. He had a feeling she would not give him the full story--her body language was full of hesitation--but that didn't matter to him. A brief overview would do, and besides, he wanted a handle on where her accent originated.