The Bracken Woods I know what darkness means

stolen by emerald night was any memory of this place, any recollection which might aid the creekman in his pursuit. she could do nothing more than helplessly tag at his side. there were no skills left to silvertongue, no hunting, no respite; the only comforts she had offered were those in the furs, and akavir — well. she would not insult him by offering. he might think it transactional. around them she glanced, pressing close for assurance as well as warmth. "we should find a place to wait out the storm," came quiet suggestion at last, not quite a courtesan addressing a lord, but many learned things must be unlearned. her smile, however, glowed true as ever, and she cast around again for any spot of shelter. it pulsed harshly in her mind, harsh that she should know, and silvertongue found herself distracted again by that faint wisdom just out of reach.