Swiftcurrent Creek One night, a few moons ago

He could see the fascination of the topic in her eye—unknowing if it was an allure for the lifestyle or simply the desire to know more of something so different. To behold the vivid and decorated walls of paint and images—to taste the sweetened and dried meats, the fermented and intoxicating berries…

Maybe she wished to lavish with the fellahin. He did not know.

Unsettled, he shifted, his eyes tracing her as she worked upon the white flowers. “Their palaces are grand and their hosting generous. Sometimes, it comes with a price,” he noted to her, pulling his gaze away and shifting forward, eyes grazing the lands before winter, looking for anything else of use for her stores. “They keep servants—they insist they are not enslaved.”

And yet… to see the fear in Silvertongue’s eyes after having escaped them—to watch the way Eset had been treated…

He withheld a sigh—pulling himself to his full height at the base of a tree, noting the bits of moss that still clung to it. Rearing up, he began to pluck down one—two—more. Perhaps, one of the healers would find use of it. To soak it with water for one who needed it—anything.

“How are you settling in?”