[Interia_Discordius]

Satari, Mar 27, 1441
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The bottle was brought to her lips, the liquid fire within burning a path down her throat and into her stomach. The taste was foul, and though she felt herself grimace, the relaxation that flooded her senses was immediate.

Morrowfield sat beside her before the newly made fire, this one much stronger than the pitiful ones she had made. They spoke little - rather, she spoke little, and he filled the silence with his half drunken chatter, his voice loud but somehow pleasant to listen to in place of the silence. She nodded along to what he said, adding her occasional opinion in opportune moments, though with the random subjects and even more random observations he made, she eventually found it pointless to say anything at all.

Turning her gaze from the darkness beyond, she studied the mercenary she called her traveling partner. The shadows cast by the flames danced on his features, which were relaxed and good-natured as always, and the smile on his face seemed to speak of some secret jape only he knew of. Morrowfield was a playful man, a good man, though average in every meaning of the word. He sat as casual as his manners, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, a bottle in his left hand and the right set upon the ground.

Realizing her staring and the fact he had since met her gaze, she returned his words with a faint curve of her lips upward. He was average, yes, but since they had met, she could swear she had found no better for a companion. What that said of the land they were in, she didn't know, but...

He continued to look at her expectantly, and she had a feeling she had missed a question or some cue to reply to. Having a whimsical mind, it was common of her... much to her dismay. Was it a blight or a muse? Judging by his expression, t'was neither.

She went to ask, but he was leaning in then, the bottle in his hand settling upon the ground. Her hands fluttered to his chest and shoulder, herself assuming the worst that he had finally passed out, but those pale blue eyes so similar to her own were clear and open. They hesitated like that, two statues set before a warm glow of a bonfire, and then she made a move to back away first.

He caught one of her hands in its withdrawal.

"Did'cha know that you look pretty good in this light?" he asked her astonished expression, and before she could reply to such nonsense, he was embracing her with his lips upon her own.

~ Llane S. Anetheron
Of a life far from exalted.