Hoshor Plains BLADE ARTS I

A hot flush blossomed across the man's pale face. Oh, he exclaimed nervously, his voice barely a whisper, thank you. Machi took the offered flowers, his eyes darting away, seeking solace in the mundane details of their surroundings.

Had anyone ever offered him flowers before? He could not recall a time when it had happened, and he certainly did not expect it to be this uncomfortable. The simple gesture left him floundering for the right response, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty.

What should he do? How should he respond? In Akashingo, he was neither royalty nor nobility, merely a fellahin. He was not brought along as a diplomat, and the weight of potential consequences pressed heavily upon him. One wrong word could disrupt the delicate negotiations between Akashingo and Yellowstone, and he could not afford to jeopardize his tenuous protection.

They're truly beautiful, he finally managed, his voice faint. Your kindness is greatly appreciated, My Lord. He glanced up briefly, his opalescent eyes flickering with uncertainty before returning to the blooms. Hopefully, these can represent the start of an alliance between our packs. Machi added sheepishly.