"What do you mean she escaped?"

The question filled the alcove veined off a larger chamber, the lack of furnishings and tapestries allowing for sound to bounce off the stone walls. Only a meager assortment of crates occupied the space, their small stature lending little substance to absorb the sudden burst of a gravelly voice. Two men stood in the alcove, one with his back to the parted velvet drapes and another with his back to the rounded masonry carved at the corners to give the appearance of scallops. The shorter man glanced over his shoulder rather than answer, convinced that a sharp dagger was about to make its presence known into the middle of his spine. Lord Marcus Traevelin was not a man accustomed to having his demands unfulfilled, and right now it was Jacom Serros' task to inform the Lord of such.

"I was told you found her in that ....that place," Marcus took a step forward, lowering his voice but maintaining a chilling menace of frustration. The sneer on his mouth angled the thin line of his lips down at the edges, enhancing a long stretch of a scar that slashed from one cheek to the other, finishing under a growth of dark whiskers along his jaw. "Tell me you at least hunted down the mage." Jacom's silence caused Marcus' teeth to grind, and it was made complete with a flex of his jaw muscle when the other man's gaze averted to the ground. It was, without a doubt, the expression of personified failure. "So both of them still roam free?"

"N-no, my lord," Jacom stammered, instinctively lurching back by a half-step when the other man moved forward. "I—- I mean, she is there. The men....they confused another for her. They happened upon her at the docks but...but...but..."

Marcus' blackish eyes narrowed. A slow curl of his fingers found the lilt of a blade tucked into a sheath on his belt. One more 'but' from his hired hand was going to see the sharp end of it deep in his throat. Then, perhaps, he'd have good reason for the inability to speak.

"She was not alone, my lord. Another killed the mercenaries."

"Another" Was it the mage?"

"N-no...there has been no sign of the mage, my lord."

"I want them both. Send new mercenaries then, better ones. And make sure these don't mistake a common loose skirt with the inventor. Better yet," Marcus slid back by a measured step and lifted his hand to stroke the growth of a short beard. "I want them alive. It shouldn't be difficult. If all reports are true — as you claim they are, she's a simple farmer. If anyone gets in their way, strike them down. But I want her and the mage brought back here — alive."

"W-what if we cannot find the mage, my lord?"

"He is there," Marcus said without any hesitation. "He won't leave the girl, she's too valuable to him." And to me — but those words were kept in the secret vicinity of his thoughts. It was not a hired hands place to know the Lord's business. The man was still fortunate to have a pulse considering what he knew. "Don't let her fool you, either. She isn't a simpleton no matter how much she may appear to be one. But do not bring her back to Waterdeep without the mage, is that understood" I do not care how long it takes — find him!"

"Yes....Yes, my lord." Jacom was in such a hurry to leave the alcove that he didn't straighten from it before turning. The velvet drapes swung in the wake of his departure, leaving Marcus standing alone with nothing more than his thoughts. His thoughts....and a mask that slid out from under the folds of his cloak. He did not leave the alcove until it was firmly in place and the hood drawn up to keep every detail of his features hidden in the shadowy veil.

Tink laughed every time she thought about it.

Standing by the well with one hand pumping the handle to send a stream of frigid water into an awaiting bin with dirty dishes, she used her free hand to stifle the sound of her laughter. She was, of course, oblivious to the fact that no one —not even the animals in the barn— could hear it. It had been less than a half-hour since Rikhard took his leave from the cottage, and she still found amusement in the poor man's fate inside the barn. She warned him, though. Horace, the ornery goose, did not take kindly to Rikhard's appearance in the barn and made it known by attacking the hapless man's legs. Tink could see it now — the one-hopped dance from boot to boot Rikhard performed to avoid getting nipped by the enraged goose.

Another trickle of laughter escaped her throat, that time left free to linger in the quiet space of her cottage. She tended to the dishes, replaced the bowls to a shelf and set the utensils to their proper drawer. Leftover stew was kept to warm in the pot and it gave her some solace to know there'd be some for the next day or two. When her thoughts crept into the future, she started to think about two specific events: the auction and the Yule Ball. Her stomach knotted with nerves for both, though she suspected Rikhard was even more anxious about one. Thinking back on their meal together and the words they shared, it gave Tink some reassurance that he hoped she'd be the winning bid — and she needed to remind herself that there were worse fates should she not be the fortunate bidder. After all, she reminded herself, they were going to the ball together. The dress she had made was in his favorite color and—-

"Oh dear! I'd almost forgotten!" She exclaimed to nothing but the warmed air of the cottage.

Finishing the task of after-dinner clean up, Tink hurried to the rocking chair set beside the large stone-crafted hearth and fished out a basket of items tucked to the side. Easing into the seat, the rhythmic sway of the chair lulled her hands into a slow, measured motion of the sewing needle. Though she did not know for certain what color Rikhard planned on wearing to the Ball, she could only assume it'd be dark enough for her little trinket to match. A small piece of lilac-colored cloth was being embroidered with a delicate touch and, before long, two shapes took form on the outer edge — a teapot and a cup. A letter 'R' had already been embroidered on one corner as was the letter 'F' for his initials. All that remained was another corner, and after the evening's escapades, she no longer wondered on what shape might work next. Once the teapot was finished, she slanted the handkerchief to the empty corner and started embroidering ....a goose.

Little did Tink know, a shadow-veiled figure watched her from the corner window.

(Scenes played by Rikhard and Tinker Dreams)

The chill of winter air nipped at Rikhard's skin as he walked a familiar trail to Tink's farm. There was a spring in his step, undeterred by the weather as he grinned to himself, enveloped in thought. With his attire, the thoughts in question played a part in keeping him warm as well; looking back on the Christmas dinner he shared with Tink not too long ago. He couldn't seem to shake the memory, not that he'd want to; since the encounter, those around him were likely to see Rikhard sport a seemingly random grin as the memory nudged its way into the forefront of his attention. Two words in particular stood out to Rikhard, I'm...yours, echoing through his mind. Spying Tink's cottage and barn, he made his way off the trail and ventured closer to the familiar sight, a light blanket of snow giving way to his leather boots as he did. He made his way to the door of the cottage, giving a knock to see if the inventor was home. Rikhard was oddly without his sword or armor today, and he sported all of the gifts he received from Tink, his sweater and scarf under the cloak he wore, the dagger hung at his side. A smile on his face, he was eager to see her reaction to him proudly wearing them.

The cushion of snow did little to hinder the goings-on at the farm. With one barn door open, it fluttered back and forth as animals grazed at seed and corn blanketing the ground of the pen. Floyd, the largest of the beasts, could be seen in the distance wearing a brown cloth over his back to ward off the chill gnawing into his elderly bones. At the sight of someone approaching, Floyd's ears twitched, almost like a wave. Horace wandered the pen, pecking at pieces of food and gave chase to the other chickens who dared sample some morsel. Tink was outdoors as well, standing on one of the newly restored post rungs for added height as she banged a hammer into a nail, fixing a loose drain from the barn wall. Dressed in layers, from a thick sweater to a tunic underneath, she also wore leather leggings which were tucked into knee-length boots and laced tight. Glasses on, else she'd likely hammer a nail into her thumb, the frames pushed back strands of brown, shorter pieces already falling from the braid and dotted with snowflakes.

It seemed that Rikhard didn't spot Tink as she worked to fix the loose drain, most likely the fault of his wandering mind. He heard the hammering as he looked about the area, venturing in its direction as he was sure she was at work. Sure enough, she was spotted as he rounded the barn's corner. The animals about were given a quick glace, hoping they wouldn't give away his position; mischief seemed to be on his agenda. He lowered the hood of his cloak as he snuck up behind her getting as close as he could. Now behind Tink as she balanced on the post rung, he pounced, "HOW is my goddess today?" emphasizing the start of his sentence as he reached up to abruptly nudge Tink's legs. He probably should have thought out his attempt to be playful; an angry lady with a hammer wasn't the safest thing to be around.

Tink's surprised yelp turned into a low-pitched shriek when Rikhard's words and nudge took her by complete surprise. Thankfully, the nail had been knocked into the drain and wall, securing it to the barn, so when she instinctively lurched backwards, only the hammer went flying over both their heads. Her arms spun at either side in a failed attempt to manage her balance. "Rik!" It was a reprimand and command all wrapped in a single syllable. Floyd hurried to the rail as if he planned to break Tink's fall should she go forward instead of back. And Horace —- well, he was an angry goose. The hammer missed him by inches and scared the bird enough to produce some droppings. The immediate threat over, Tink inched backwards only when she knew he'd be prepared to catch her, and threw an arm around his shoulder for good measure. "Your goddess has lost years off her life, thanks to you!" all said with a lopsided grin, any anger she felt bled away with the surprise. Tink's loud scream traveled over the landscape, and that must have been the cause of a flock of birds taking flight from a tree in the distance. They swooped and swirled over the farm, but chose another pine tree to nest.

A sly grin he sported quickly softened as his antics brought about the commotion, narrowly missing a hammer to the head! His eyes widened as chaos overtook the farm, as brief as the moment may have been. Only after the dust had settled, Tink now safely planted on the ground, did Rikhard take a moment to laugh...and laugh and laugh. "My apologies to you, and to your animals as well," he chuckled, glancing over to Horace and Floyd. As his laughter subsided, he brought his hands to rest on Tink's hips, voice softening as he spoke, "Let's hope I didn't lop too many years off of you," leaning in to offer a quick kiss. It seemed a fitting gesture to share his pleasant disposition.

"Aye," she agreed, pausing with any other words to brush a kiss to his mouth. The tip of her nose was chilled, but the kiss and shared laughter brought a surge of warmth throughout her body. "Let's hope not. I plan on getting you back for that. And it might take me a while to think up something good." Apparently revenge fell in the same vicinity as compliments — she needed time to get good at it. Quick to right the crooked slant of her spectacles, Tink used that same hand to caress his whiskered cheek. Snow flurries fell upon them, most melting against the warmth of their clothing and skin, and some of the animals were quick to find refuge in the barn once chaos broke out. Horace was no exception, and the ornery goose turned a look —an almost daring one— to Rikhard before finding warmth inside. A gray misted fog ambled around the trees in the distance, slowly creeping closer to the cottage and covering the farmland well past the repaired posts. "Don't think we'll get much accomplished today," she murmured after a squinted glance over the land.

"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots," he teased, the prospect of revenge was actually amusing to him. The look Horace threw Rikhard's way as he held Tink in his arms was noted, and he got a mischievous sneer in return before he waddled his way into the barn. He released the inventor before he looked about the area himself, nodding in agreement with her comment on the weather, "So it seems. I was so eager to get to work too; I'm ripe with energy today!" He unfastened his cloak, folding it over one of his arms before he adjusted the collar of his sweater with the other, "Shall we follow the lead of the animals and seek shelter before the snow falls further?"

"You are always underestimating me, Lord Falkstead. One day I -am- going to surprise you." Her words faltered some as she watched his expression change, and tossed a look over her shoulder to see Horace's tail feathers disappearing into the barn. Floyd was slower to leave the inventor, but soon his hooves marched to a slow beat to find some food left in the trough. "Well, we can always put you to work in...in..." distracted, her words stumbled upon themselves when she turned back in time to see Rikhard shedding his cloak. The last time he wore the sweater, the day he had received it, was burned into Tink's memory for a variety of reasons. And seeing him in it again, along with his other gifts, took her mind right back to that fateful time. At that very moment, it could have been the middle of summer for the heat trickling over the girl's cheeks. "Aye," nodding with a quick bob of her head which loosened snow-flecked pieces of hair. Since there was still abundant light, even with the tufts of snow clouds overhead, she did not venture into the pen to close the barn doors. Instead, she started to the cottage and pushed its front door wide to welcome them inside. A fire stirred to life, creating warmth and light, and the scent of vegetable soup filled the air. "You look very handsome today," she announced only when she trusted her voice. "That's quite the grand sweater you have there..." as if she was unaware as to where it came from.

( To be continued....)

(Scene played by Rikhard and Tinker Dreams)

Pausing as she spoke, "Mop?" before noticing the little mess he'd been trailing about. "Bah, I —," his words interrupted by Tink's shriek and the commotion of shattering glass. Without pause he drew the dagger at his side, "Thenia," he shouted as he rushed over to aid her. Taking her arm from behind, he attempted to bring her toward the center of the cottage and away from any windows. "A-Are you all right?" he stammered, still shaken and confused. Pointing his dagger near the freshly broken window, he wished to bring himself between it and Tink, his eyes darting around the area as he searched for any more attackers.

The long blade marred by Tink's blood, skittered across the floor, mixing a thin line of crimson against melted snow and watery mud. "I..." color washed from her face between the shock and the pain, but she had enough sense to rip the torn sleeve of her tunic to tie it around her wound. "...t-think so." A course of wind filtered through the window, bringing sprinkles of snowflakes as they wandered into the warmth of the cottage and melted before settling on the floor. The barn door continuously banged against its hinges and Floyd's loud bray shattered what would have been quiet outside. "The animals..." before Tink thought of any consequences, she took a deliberate few steps toward the door.

"Thenia! Don't you dare head out there," his tone was stern as he made his way between her and the door. He lowered his tone after his admonishment, inwardly scolding himself to snapping at her so, but he only did so out of worry for her safety, "I...Let me see what is outside first," he showed some concern for the animals as well, hearing Floyd's bray. Dagger still in hand, he cracked the door open, a rush of cool air falling upon him as snowflakes ventured through the threshold.

"I—" Tink's objection stopped then and there, paused by a combination of good sense and the tone of his voice. Though she wasn't overly thrilled with the idea of his going outside, either, Tink stayed behind. Hurrying to the hearth, she collected her spectacles and slid them over her eyes so her vision improved by leaps and bounds. Not owning a proper weapon, she grabbed the mop before remembering that the assailant's dagger was there. "In my house, it's mine now." Crouching low to pick it up, she studied the onyx hilt before taking hold of it. Outside, the dappled light was swallowed by the gray fog and tendrils of light snowfall. A chicken ran out of the barn, squawking in time with Floyd's continued braying. The aging donkey stood in the open doorway, hooves kicking back layers of heavy, wet mud. The fog provided a veil over the distant landscape, but the snow served a purpose — footprints led away from the cottage to the barn. They certainly were too large to belong to Tink and far to fresh to have lingered that long.

Slowly peeking out the door, any assailants seemed to have fled for the moment. Making his way outside, Rikhard glanced over to the frantic animals, seeing that they seemed to be unharmed if not shaken. Surveying the area for any signs of an escape route, the fresh footprints were spotted in the snow. A furious grunt escaped his throat as he carried on with a quickened pace toward the barn. Just before he rounded the doorway to scout the area inside, he shouted a challenge to the attacker, "Show yourself, fiend!"

( To be continued....)

( Scene between Rikhard and Tinker Dreams )

After his blade was knocked away, Rikhard made an attempt to back up and avoid the mercenary's assault, but sure enough, he was caught in his hold." With one hand, he held the assailant's wrist as he was grasped at the throat, his cold, hard grip leaving Rikhard struggling for breath." He writhed beneath the man, his eyes falling upon the dagger that was poised to lunge at his heart, and suddenly a flurry of feathers was in his face." Struggling to see, struck in the eyes by Horace, he managed to throw a punch with his other arm in the commotion, hoping to catch the mercenary unaware so that he may free himself from his grasp.

That damned bird! Distracted by the blinding flutter of feathers and a sudden bellow from the doorway, Rikhard's punch connected against the man's jaw. He tasted blood, and it sparked a fury that went beyond professional gain. Horace flew around the man dressed in black and nipped repeatedly at the backs of his thighs where leather armor was not so strong. The mercenary kicked backwards but double-teamed, he had no choice but to ignore the bird in favor of the stronger opponent. The man's blade tilted low, dangling like a piece of fruit to be plucked by the hungrier foe. Rikhard slipped from his hold, and the assailant thought to use the second's worth of time to regain his footing. Dark eyes drifted to the woman — his target — in the doorway. "Pretty," he drawled, spitting blood out of his mouth.

Rikhard took advantage of his chance and managed to raise from the ground, stumbling onto one of his knees as he gasped for air." He brought his gaze to the dagger the mercenary held before glancing over to Tink as she stood near the barn door." Upon hearing the assailant speak, noticing as his sight drifted toward the inventor, an enraged grunt bellowed from within Rikhard as he lunged toward him once again, attempting to take his dagger, "You'll not lay a hand on her!"

The mercenary knew, perhaps a second too late, that taking his attention of Rikhard would be a fatal flaw. Once his dark eyes veered back, he found the man lunging in his direction with a renewed sense of fury and determination. Before he could tighten his hold on the hilt, both men went crashing to the ground and Horace took flight to the partition separating two milking cows. Tink inched back, hands up to her mouth to cover a scream. Floyd tried his best to nudge the inventor out of the way, either wanting her to be out of the barn or get himself inside. The weapon sank into a layer of wet hay, its blade disappearing from sight, but the onyx hilt stood out against the straw. Bruised and battered by fist and goose beak alike, the mercenary struggled under Rikhard's weight. "Won't use my hand," he drawled out a breath, using every tactic now to enrage his foe with distraction." "Rest assured, I've got a long blade." Pushing at Rikhard with his right hand, the left splayed outward to try and find the dagger.

Tightening his grasp as the mercenary's words met his ears, the attempts to enrage Rikhard seemed to be working quite well." Struggling to keep the man down, his eyes fell upon the onyx hilt as it emerged from the straw." He brought an arm out to reach for it, quickly taking the dagger in his hand before bringing his full weight upon the assailant again." Placing the curved blade against the man's neck, Rikhard sneered through his teeth, his breathing labored from the struggle, "Let's see how bold you are faced with death!" His tone and expression were fierce, not amused by the attempts to distract him; Rikhard was seething as he lay on top of the mercenary, sweat and mud beading down his brow as strands of hair dangled before his eyes.

The press of cold steel against his throat stilled the man from head to booted toe. His struggle stilled immediately and the glint in his dark eyes revealed nothing but loathing. "Bolder than she will be," he hissed the words, knowing the inventor was close enough to hear them as well. "I can only hope that you'll see her suffer before the end. And, oh, how she'll suffer." He knew death was imminent, and he had every intention of getting Rikhard so furious that he'd use anger instead of rational thinking — the quicker he met the end, the better. "She'll whimper before she screams. I can hear it now...?" Tink swallowed back a wave of worry, her gaze hindered by the dried streaks of moisture over the lenses of her spectacles, but she stared solely at Rikhard through the haze.

Rikhard's head grew light as the mercenary spoke; for a moment he seemed to shut off all of his surroundings, his hearing dampened and his sight blurred as he was overcome with emotion." Naturally, rage overtook him, but something else writhed inside...fear, fear over the foreboding words that slithered out of the killer's mouth." "Save your breath, you'll need it as you beg your maker for mercy," Rikhard muttered; his words seemed bold, sure, but inwardly, he was probably just as afraid as his attacker.? Raising his dagger from the man's throat, Rikhard let out a pained cry as he brought the dagger down upon him to deliver the finishing blow straight into his heart.

(( To be continued....))

( Rikhard & Tink )

Trudging through the cottage, he slumped in the seat he was offered." Rikhard sat there, limp and weary, now only wearing a tunic that was similar in color to the sweater that was just removed." He simply stared into space until Tink brought his gaze into hers, his brow folding into a frown as she spoke, "Why do you apologize when this is no fault of your own?"" His frown deepened as his eyes diverted to the wound on her shoulder, disappointed that harm fell upon her, even if there was no way either of them could have foreseen the events that had just transpired.

"Because..." all other words stalled within the column of her throat, unable to coherently address the reasons why she felt compelled to apologize. Stepping away, she moved to the well set within the ground close to where the counter lined the wall. Drawing an empty and, more importantly, clean bucket, she filled it with cold water and brought it back to the table. Every time she moved, an ache throbbed the course of her arm from shoulder to wrist, but Tink was determined to do whatever she could to help Rikhard. Gathering a few folded cloths and a bar of soap, she delivered them to the table as well and soaked a white rag until a layer of suds coated the linen. With care, she brushed the cloth over his brow and cheek, tender and soft. "I....I do not know who that was or why he was after me," she admitted in a mere whisper, some words drowned by the splash of water in the bucket as she sought to wet the cloth more.

He remained in his seat as Tink went to fetch a bucket of water, fishing through his mind for a reason as to why someone would be sent to kill her." Wincing a moment as the cold cloth was brought to his skin, he remained silent as she cleaned his face before his eyes once again fell upon the wound she had suffered, "Don't toil over me while you are hurt." I am merely dirty, nothing more," he muttered, ignoring the aches that shot through him; he did not seem to offer resistance as she spoke however, too weary over the ordeal to do so." "Your arm...," pointing out the reason for his words as she wet the cloth further.

"It's ..." she was about to lie and say it was fine, but there was not much strength in her to do so at the moment. Leaving the cloth over the edge of the bucket, she reached with her free hand and untied the knot binding the wound closed. It was a jagged scratch, one that tore at her flesh and would leave a faint scar upon healing. "It bled more than it hurt..." she admitted, relying on a half-truth. With the rush of fear and adrenaline, the injury did not give her much pain at first. But now, exposed and visible, Tink felt it more even if it was mind over matter.

Finally he stood from his seat, dipping his hand into the nearby bucket, wringing his hands dry on the hem of his tunic." The steps of his boots were muffled by a layer of mud as it began to dry." He brought himself before Tink, placing a hand on one shoulder before he raised the other near her wound, "C-Can I try...," hoping the limited skills he had in healing magics could at least help with the pain, anything to help her.

Tink did not hesitate in offering the injured arm to him, gaze trailing away from the sight of the dried blood and torn flesh to focus on the intent in his light eyes. Staring up to him, she tried to recall the first time they met and the subsequent meetings that earned them nicknames. Each image of the memory inspired a smile, and as she stood there in her ripped gray-black tunic, the somber color did not take away any vibrancy in her eyes. Before he sought to summon the magic taught to him by the monks, she leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for saving my life," she whispered the words, an attempt to reassure him.

Much has transpired since that fateful day when Rikhard first met a crumb-riddled Tink at the inn, pleasantries giving way to trials that tested the both of them." There were sure to be more trials ahead, but if anything was for certain, it was that Rikhard, the loyal tea servant, would strive to be at the inventor's side for every minute of it." He was surprised to see Tink managing a smile after such an ordeal, but it was welcomed and contagious." Upon accepting the kiss, his cheeks flushing with a flood of warmth, he whispered in reply, "I'd gladly do it again," words he'd spoken after her first brush with death at the docks." Gathering his composure, he took a deep breath to concentrate; summoning such magics was not effortless for Rikhard as it was for the monks that taught him." Gently he placed his hand over her wound as a warm light emanated from it, basking the area in its healing glow.

In truth, if she focused on all the mercenary said and reflected on the fight between him and Rikhard, she might have succumbed to more tears. But tears did not solve any problems. Neither did smiles, she reasoned inside her mind, lost in a sea of thoughts while he concentrated on treating her injury. Tink, a hopeless optimistic, tried to put her efforts and strength in the positives of her life. Though they had dimmed after the day's events, it dwarfed in comparison to the brighter aspects. After all, Rikhard was with her — and that simple fact warmed her heart. Before she realized it, the pulse of light tingled against her skin and it sent a tremor of sensation from shoulder down to her forearm. The torn skin was renewed, the thin line where the blade struck pieced together. Dried blood disappeared under the warmth of the glow and she was left with nothing but a pink trace of a scar. Now that she could move her arm without a dreaded throb of pain, Tink leaned close and wrapped both arms around Rikhard's shoulders. Her face buried in the crook of his neck, she brushed a few delicate kisses against his skin.

Tink's embrace drew out any thoughts on the foreboding words the mercenary spoke...for now." Her warmth and the light touch of her lips were comforting beyond description, there was no place he'd rather be at that moment." He wrapped an arm around her waist, cradling her head with the other as he drew his fingers through her hair." "I want to stay here," he whispered, "I don't want to leave your side tonight," his tone was earnest, his voice carrying a subtle tremor as he spoke the words." He wanted her to remain safe, and his remaining there was as much for his comfort as it was for hers.

"Did you think I was going to let you leave?" she whispered the words, lulled into a dream-like comfort within his embrace. The touch to her hair soothed away some of the concerns they faced, but she refused to think on them. Tink's arm tightened around his shoulder and the other lowered, allowing her hand to find a place over his chest. The tips of her fingers grazed the tunic, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart. Tipping her head up, she sought his eyes. "I need you to stay by my side tonight..." and any that follow.

His eyes lost in hers, Tink was sure to find Rikhard's heartbeat quickening as she had her hand on his chest." "And so I shall," his words barely finding their way from his throat as he leaned in to meet his lips with hers." He tightened the embrace he had on her, splaying his fingers through the sea of brown locks as he did." He was determined to find out who was seeking to end Tink's life, but for the moment, he only wanted her in his arms, holding that which he treasured most in the new land he found himself in.?

Lerian Nostarei, you are a fool.

The thought crossed the mage's mind as he regarded the cottage belonging to the whimsical inventor. One window shuttered closed, light still filtered through the other panes of glass and provided sight of two shadows within the home. The girl had been attacked but the bravery and strength of her friend saved her life. For now. Their attacker made no secret of his being a hired hand and that others would not stop until they succeeded.

Lerian Nostarei, you decrepit old fool!

The corpse of the mercenary remained in the barn, left in his own blood, strewn with hay and mud and pieces of feed that fell from birds in the rafters. The mage knew who had hired him to kill the girl — and himself had he known where to look. So much for his best laid plans to hide them in obscurity. I should have given more thought to that spell, the mage continued to blast his mind with a myriad of thoughts, regrets, and plans. But I had to act fast, he reasoned. Traevelin had given the order that they were to be sold as slaves, but I knew the truth. Together, the inventor and I could have conjured it — the item Traevelin wants so badly. So badly that he wasted no time, effort, and money into finding us. Poor Thenia, she has no idea about any of it.

Movement within the cottage caught the mage's attention and he watched the couple inside embrace. They were nothing but shadows and silhouettes, but his old eyes could define their positioning without so much as a squint. He was, after all, an elf. At least someone can keep her safe, the mage sighed within the privacy of his thoughts. My only hope is that Traevelin realizes sooner rather than later, that his plans rely on us being alive for the invention to work. Dark eyes turned on the dead body again. So very tempted to kick at it, the mage held tight to some semblance of decency and decorum.

Lerian Nostarei, you are such an old fool!

Horace, the white-feathered goose, scrambled by the dead body, squawking in distaste that something still occupied his barn. A slight limp marred the goose's gait. The injury was a small price to pay for achieving peace inside his home, however, and the ache wasn't enough to keep him from chasing a few other chickens and birds away from the feed bag. Its black eyes settled on the mage for a brief moment until the rumblings of his stomach took preference.

The mage walked out of the barn's doorway, allowing the couple inside some privacy, not wishing to disturb them from their attempts at finding a measure of peace after such chaos. With an old brown blanket over his back, the mage disappeared into the light fog to be alone with his thoughts.

Lerian Nostarei, you stubborn old jackass!

Tink had no perception of time in the dreamscape; one minute or one hour, thoughts and memories and flicker-flashed images merged together. But they all faded into darkness as she succumbed to sleep and met the first of many dreams. Tucked against Rikhard's side, her arm draped languidly over the man's chest and her fingers grazed the fabric of his tunic. The thick quilt covered them both, pulled high along Rikhard's stomach while blanketing more of Tink's smaller stature. And yet' she could not get warm. Somewhere in the course of her dream, her body turned cold. Frigid. The numbing chill seeped deep into her blood and bones, making it difficult for her to move.

But where was she going"

You are a failure" a voice rang out, cold and calculating, distant. But it approached in volume and pitch. You" are" a" failure".

No! She heard her voice but she did not speak, her mouth stayed closed, pursed against a wave of confusion that made her spin around. Her gaze touched upon nothing but fog, wet and gray and thick. She couldn't see. I am not a failure"

Your inventions are nothing. You are nothing!

That is not true! She felt a rise of fear drift along the current of her bloodstream. It worked. I swear by the gods, it worked.

Admit nothing" another voice, calm and gentle filled her mind. Tink could not sense anyone nearby but the presence of the voice caused the tips of her fingers to tingle in warmth. Admit it failed, you must do so for your own protection.

Tink shifted in her sleep, turning to her side so that her back was to Rikhard, and took a good length of the quilt along with it. Incoherent words fell from her mouth, a rush of denials and pleas. The darkness returned, consuming her in every direction. Bone-chilling cold was not far behind. It came in the form of a man dressed in black — cloaked in shadows, only the glint of steel betrayed his position. And again, Tink was trapped in movement and void of voice. She tried to open her mouth to scream but no sound erupted. Only blood. Spurts of crimson fell from the corners of her lips, and she choked on it, unable to cough or swallow or scream. Within seconds, the blood was gone and she was face-to-face with the mercenary.

They will come for you, he promised without so much as a word. You will beg for death. Like he did"

Tink's gaze pierced the veil of the fog and saw Rikhard's limp form on the docks. Seagulls spiraled overhead before they were chased away by black-feathered carrion, eager to feast upon the blood, bones, and body of its deceased prey. Every step she took felt weighted down, as if she dragged her boots in wet cement. Her arms swayed back and forth, using the abrupt swing for leverage and strength to move forward. Tears stung her eyes and they were cold" so cold"

"Rikhard?" she tried to scream his name. Perhaps he was only sleeping" "Wake up!"

And then she looked down at the pool of blood surrounding her boots and his body. A wooden-hilt emerged from his chest, the very one she had given him as a present. Despite the blood washed over it, the branded initials RF were visible.

No...no...no"

You will be the death of him" the cold voice returned. He will die because of you.

No' no' no' Dropping to her knees, Tink shook at the dead man's body. The reddish-blonde of his hair was matted with dried blood and his blue eyes stared up at her in accusation.

"Rikhard!" That time her scream throbbed up her throat, splitting her dream into reality, and shattered the silence of the cottage.

( Scene by Rikhard & Tink )

Tink grabbed the flint and backstepped to the open door, a rather risky endeavor for someone who lacked a measurable amount of grace and coordination. But it was a route she knew well, and therefore could do it blind. Every so often her hands rose up as if to steady him or the corpse, but she never touched either one. Once outside, she walked to the cart and lowered the back panel to allow Rikhard the chance to drop the body. Pushing the canister further back, there was ample room by the wood. Her gaze skirted the farmland, eyes squinting behind her spectacles for any hint of shadowy movement.

Another grunt emerging from him, Rikhard lowered himself to drop the body into the cart." A dull thud broke any silence there may have been as the weight of the body disturbed the cart, shifting its wheels a small bit as it fell." He raised the back panel of the cart before he offered a few words of reassurance, "There," straightening his tunic, "Nearly finished.?" He eyed his cloak at sword as they lay on the posts of the nearby pen, but opted to leave them as he was going to be handling the body once more before they were finished." A long, drawn out breath separated his next words as he glanced over to Tink, "All right...lead the way I suppose."

She nodded only once and turned to make her way to Floyd's flank, grabbing hold of one of the reins to set him into motion. Blessedly, the animal needed no urging and put his hooves to work in pulling the weight of the cart. The path was marked by twin tracks in the trodden earth, indicating a route the wagon had taken a time or two in the past. The western border of Tink's land was barren and void of any life —tree, plant, or otherwise, and it was a good distance from the cottage. There'd be no threat of the fire burning anything but the body and the earth under it. Once there, she gave a loving pat to Floyd and moved to the back panel, drawing it down with a noisy creak of rusted hinges. Since Rikhard was doing the hardest part, she plucked pieces of wood from the cart and started on the pyre. She formed a rectangle first, outlining the area for the body, then added more pieces to it. "I think this is good enough," she said breathlessly, hooking her glasses onto the collar of her sweater since they kept slipping down her nose.

Following on Floyd's opposite flank, he couldn't help but' peer down at the body in the cart, prompting a wave of anger before his glance fell on Tink, allowing it to subside with the fact that she was alive." As they stopped, he allowed Tink to gather her wood before taking the body on his shoulder again, venturing over to the pyre she was constructing." "Aye, thank you, Tink," showing her help was appreciated before he lowered the body in the center of the pile." Sighing at the sight, he made his way back to the cart to gather the canister of oil and the flint for the fire." Dousing the body and wood with a healthy amount of fuel, he took a kneel, flint in hand, before gazing back up at Tink to confirm she was ready.

The mercenary unfolded in the center of the pyre, limbs tucked and stretched at odd angles. Black leather covered his body, dried blood staining most of the bottom half of his face; his mouth hung agape, losing trace of that distorted grin he had died wearing. Tink was shaken to the core — not because they were about to set the body on fire. She felt nothing. And that frightened her. Taking a position by Rikhard's side, she looked down and nodded. The body — the memory — could not be rid of soon enough. "Do it."

An eerie silence overtook them, broken only by the sound of flint as Rikhard brought sparks to the pile.?"" The first strike seemed loud enough to echo for miles amidst the silence, followed by another, before finally a spark caught oil and began to set the pyre ablaze." The fire lingered where it started for a moment, then quickly began to flare outward along the wood; the flames rumbled into existence, prompting Rikhard to quickly stand and back away, taking Tink by the hand to come with him." Once he found himself to be far enough away, he grasped Tink's hand tighter as the flames grew and wood crackled.

It was naive of her to think that just because the body could be destroyed that the memory of it would vanish, too. She realized that watching the flames grow and fester along the corpse, following the pattern of the wood before overtaking it completely. The memory lingered, branded to her mind with blistering acuteness. Tink twined her fingers with his, squeezing them tight to draw strength from the hold. Floyd skittered nervously on his hooves with the snapping flames and crackling wood, shaking the cart with a rattle. Turning her attention from the fire, she looked up at Rikhard and used her free hand to coax his gaze to her and her alone. Words were difficult, but the raw emotion in her eyes conveyed the message loud enough: apology and gratitude and concern.

"Who was that mercenary?" a sultry voice asked. In a matter of seconds the tone of voice ventured from soft silk to chiseled ice. "Who very nearly risked all of us?"

"A dead mercenary now," came the response, dull and even, almost bored. "Does it even matter" He's dead, the girl still lives, and our whereabouts are unknown."

"How do you know that for sure?" Another question posed.

"I don't," came another reply.

"Do you know how infuriating you are?"

"Yes."

"How—-"

"If you ask another question, I swear by all the gods that I'll leave this bed " and you."

Silence.

"That's what I thought," the smug words hung as heavy as the passion lingering in the air of the small chamber, filled with sex and perfume and the promise of living another day.

The chamber was not quiet for long, but the sounds took another shape than the previous question and answer volley. Long past sunset, when the winter winds brought with it the constant threat of snow and ice, the two lovers were warmed by their endeavors and their languid embrace which tangled their limbs.

"Now what do we do?" the sultry voice asked again.

"Sleep," came the exasperated reply.

"With the girl. Do we wait or".?"

"We follow instructions. Look what happens when someone didn't."

"So we wait?"

"We do." The gruff words were coupled with a sigh. "And we watch " and learn. The mage has got to be somewhere in this god-forsaken place."

"Don't you think I've been looking?"

"You're too close to the girl, you should be careful." His dark eyes shimmered with warning as he looked to the woman tucked at his side — the one consolation of being assigned to this task: it had some surprising benefits. A calloused finger trailed the edge of the woman's cheek, savoring every speck of perfection that could be found in her silk-soft flesh. Drawing closer to the jaw, he curled a piece of dark red hair around his finger and gave a light tug, earning her attention and the sight of her luminous gold-flecked green eyes. Daisy was her name, but she was beautiful as a rose; possession a mind as sharp as a thorn.

"Have I been careless?" The game continued between them with her plying question and him the answers.

"No," his answer was tainted by a hint of skepticism.

"No or yes?" That time, the question turned far more serious than the others she had put into play. Turning ever so slightly, she rested the underside of her arm against his bare chest and searched his eyes for the truth. Inwardly, she knew to do such a thing was futile — the man lied as often as he breathed.

"You've been fine," he admitted after a lengthy pause. It wasn't due to his ignorance or doubt on the matter. Quite the opposite, in fact. "You're the one who has delivered the most information on the girl. She's not much of a mystery now yet she's surrounded by it like an earthy fog. Find out what you can about this man of hers. It's been reported that he's staying at the cottage now."

"Shall I take him out?" Again, the question was serious, not part of their game.

"No," answering in such swift measure their voices nearly collided. "Not yet. He might be useful to us further down the road. For now," he turned to place Daisy fully on her back. ?" we've got some time to kill."

( Rikhard & Tink )

News, Snoring, & Tricks — Oh My!

Taking a moment to seek shelter from the cold, a weary Rikhard had taken his place at the couch of Tink's cottage. Taking a lean on an arm of the couch, he seemed to have found his comfort zone as his legs fell across the rest; never mind the fact that he seemed to forget that his boots were still on as they fell upon Tink's furniture. Having time to settle in at the cottage the past few days, the inventor's new "guard" seemed to be rather quick in making himself feel at home. Taking in the warmth of the nearby fire, he seemed to be drowning out any distractions, be it a loud bray from Floyd, Horace angrily honking other animals from his barn, or Tink directing any comments his way. At the moment the man charged with looking over the farm was very lax in his duties, indeed. It almost seemed as if he was...yes, he fell asleep, and the onset of a snore would certainly give that away if Tink happened to be nearby.

Tink arrived home with a bundle of items tucked into a rucksack, compliments of bartering with merchants and vendors at the market. Chilled to the bone, she eased into the warmth of the cottage and set the bundle down before dismantling herself from the cloak, hat, and scarf that provided some semblance of warmth on a frigid day. Greeted by a snore, a smile blossomed across her mouth, and she glanced to the couch where Rikhard snoozed. The first glint of mischief touched her eyes and then seeped into a crooked grin. Tiptoeing to the couch, she stopped at the end where his head rested on the cushioned arm, peered over, and ever so slowly slipped her icy-cold hands under the collar of his shirt.

"MmmGRAH!", awaking ever so abrubtly from his slumber, his instincts kicked in...although a bit sloppily. Rolling to reach for the dagger he was wearing at his side, he found himself tumbling off the couch as it got stuck in its sheath. Falling right on his back, he gave it an arch as he winced a glance over to a now upside-down Tink, releasing his grasp on the dagger before taking a moment to remain at his new position. "Oh hello, Tink," he groaned, bringing himself up to a sitting position before continuing, "All right, I think we're even for me scaring you off that fence post." He tried his best to seem cross as he menacingly pointed her way with his comment, but the crooked smile he sported was evidence that he didn't mind at all.

She drew her hands away as if they had been scorched the instant Rikhard stirred to life and reached for his dagger. Thankfully, quick (if not at all nimble) reflexes prevented her from being pulled into his stumble to the floor, and she smiled triumphantly at his predicament. "Even?" she scoffed the word. "That was just me saying hello." And it was a multi-tasked greeting since her hands were nice and toasty now. Stepping closer, she extended a hand down to help him up, grateful for the fire that crackled nearby and sent a healthy dose of heat across the cottage. "Getting a lot of work done, I see." The quirk of a grin on her mouth indicating that she was relieved to see him resting. Ever since the encounter after Christmas, she worried about him getting a decent night's sleep — if she'd been plagued by nightmares, Tink couldn't start to imagine how he handled it. "I've some news to share," but she waited til he was up off the floor first before continuing.

"Yes, I was seeing if the couch was safe," he replied, rather cheekily as he noticed the hand offered to him. "Were you even wearing gloves?", he muttered before accepting Tink's aid, bringing himself to a stand. Taking a moment to stretch his back and straighten his tunic, he beamed a grin over to her, glad to be awakened by a familiar face more than anything else. "Hmm, and what news would that be?", reaching over to offer a quick pinch to Tink's side in response to her antics. Mischief warranted a small bit in return.

"I forgot them" she frowned for a span of seconds, but the expression bled into a smile once he stood and stretched. Chin inched higher to keep eye contact, it allowed him the chance to see and hear the girlish-giggle of laughter that escaped her throat when he pinched her. Twisting out of his reach, she gave his hand a light swat and ventured to the door where the rucksack had been placed. "I was offered a job," she explained, hefting the sack high enough to carry it to the table. An assortment of items with — cheese, dried meats, and a handful of lemons. There was even a package of tea. "While I was at the Inn, there was someone working on inventories and tallies. I recognized him — he's a minotaur — from my early days here in the city. He was having trouble holding a pen so I volunteered to help. I'm pretty good with numbers," she grinned his way, dividing her attention between him and the goods, all the while glancing over the rim of her spectacles.

Tink's reaction to his pinch prompted a sly smirk before he was swatted, wincing as he held his hand to feign injury; the fact that he couldn't wipe the smirk from his face during his little act made it less than convincing. Remaining near the couch, he simply observed and listened as she explained, venturing over to the table as the rucksack was placed upon it. He grinned as he pictured a minotaur fumbling with a pen in his mind, something like that could only happen in RhyDin. When she seemed finished, his grin widened in response, "That's good! And you believe it can be managed along with your duties at the farm?" Although such a job didn't seem to strenuous, he didn't wish for her to be overworked, especially after recent events. His attention was brought between her and the goods at the table as he placed his palms upon it, awaiting a response.

"This time of year is usually slow," she chose her words ever so carefully, a delicate balance of sense and strategy. "And with you here to help....the way I see it, if you can ready the land for spring, I can work at the docks to secure more income for us. And, aye, it's not an abundance of work — I tallied his inventories while sitting at a table drinking tea, the pay will certainly be enough to provide us with food and, perhaps....other supplies."

"Well that's fortunate!", he grinned, "As long as you aren't overworked," nodding in conclusion. A bit of a frown caught his face as he pondered a moment, thinking of a past job offer he had received. "That reminds me: I had never been able to contact Epona regarding work at her forge," sighing as he shrugged the idea away; he didn't mind his position as a farm hand and guard to Tink's home one bit. The slight pause in her last remark was noted, and curiosity overtook him, prompting an eyebrow raise as he took a stand from his lean on the table, "What kind of 'other supplies'?"

"I should be fine, really. Though....I wonder if I should be concerned that he asked if I was trained in combat," she paused, clutched a package of sliced meats, and used her free hand to nudge up the glasses. "He might have been having a jest at my expense with that," even Tink knew she wasn't exactly ....a physical threat to anyone. Shifting from one topic to another, she carried a few parcels to a covered crate by the windowsill, deposited them inside and then lowered the whole box by a length of rope out the window. Closed again, the goods that needed to be kept cold did so outside. "Have you tried leaving her a note?" Turning, she got a good look at his raised brow and found a chuckled laugh. "I was thinking that in the spring, when the weather warms, we could build an extension on the cottage." Her hand gestured toward the bed half-blocked by the wardrobe that now, was filled to capacity with all their combined belongings. "I mean....if you chose to stay once this situation is remedied." Teeth nipped the corner of her bottom lip then, anchored in place by the counter.

Rikhard canted his head downward, keeping his gaze upon Tink as a low grumble of displeasure crept from his throat; he really hoped that was a jest at her expense. Not choosing to dwell on it too much, he replied on the issue of working at the forge, "I did, actually, but perhaps my letter never found its way to her barracks. Finally, her words on the new addition to the cottage were heard, which brought a mischievous grin to his face as he ventured on over to Tink's position at the counter. "Yes, I do recall you mentioning the need for more 'privacy' at the inn recently," he remarked, reaching down to place his hands on her hips before continuing. Catching sight of the way Tink's teeth caught her lip, his grin widened and voice lowered a notch or two, "At the moment, I can't think of a reason why I wouldn't want to stay," chuckling before his tone was back to normal again, bringing a thumb up to brush at her nose, "If you'd have me, of course." And with that, he went to release her from his grasp, keeping his gaze with hers before turning his way back toward the table.

Anything she planned on saying before his hands found purchase at her hips went completely out of her mind. She wasn't quite sure what it was — whether the grin on his mouth or the way his voice lowered into a husky murmur or both — but all at once her body tremored in a collision of chills and heat. Swallowing thickly, she snapped out of the brief reverie, awakened by the caress to the tip of her nose. "A-aye," clearing her throat, she found use of her voice again. "Of course I want you—- want to have you—- have you stay here." Glancing off to the side, she muttered an 'ohdear' under her breath and nudged herself into motion. Following in his wake, she could feel the rise of a blush on her cheeks and prayed he'd assume it was the close proximity of the hearth for the cause of it. "Well then, I believe that with everything in the works, this shall be a comfortable winter for us. I was also thinking about purchasing a horse, too. Floyd is getting older and I think it might be—- Oh! That reminds me. I asked Bob about a dog and he suggested you and I go to the shelter and pick out a suitable one."

A triumphant grin overtook his face as his back turned to Tink for a brief moment, amused as she stumbled over her words. His grin turned to a smirk as he lifted himself up onto the table, taking a seat on the edge; hearing her stumble was giving him difficulty in holding back a laugh. An eyebrow raised at her words as his smirk held fast, "Of course I want you...," yes, it seemed he caught that bit. Mischief was put aside for a moment when he heard Tink's plans, "We'll be swimming in new animals soon, eh?", chuckling from his seat on the table, "I'd be glad to accompany you at the shelter!"

That did not help to alleviate the rise of heat or color along her cheeks, and she gave his shoulder a light thwack of her palm when she passed. Grabbing the package of tea, she brought it back to the counter and positioned it between a few canister, just under a rack of dried herbs. "You know what I meant," she muttered playfully. Easing into a much safer topic of conversation, she spun on a boot heel and the swish of her skirt rustled in chase. The sleeves of an oversized sweater teased her wrists, and she continuously struggled to push them away. "Aye, we will. But a horse will be a big help and the dog— well, a little more protection on the land can't hurt." Stopped at the edge of the table, both palms rested on the wood surface. "Bob called you my boyfriend," and for some reason, that amused her greatly.

Holding onto the table's edge as he was so violently struck, he couldn't help but let out a bit a mischievous laughter as he spent a brief moment keeping his balance where he sat, "Yes, I know what you meant," his tone didn't really help with his case, it screamed implications that his mind was elsewhere. Grinning as he observed Tink venturing about the cottage, he nodded in agreement before her last comments brought a healthy bit of laughter. "Oh, is that so' How could he get that idea?" he knew perfectly well how Bob could come to that conclusion, of course; from the time they spent together at the inn and certain auctions and balls, it seemed everyone that knew them found it to be painfully obvious.

She gave him a rather pointed look for the laughter that followed her swat as well as his tone of voice. No matter how hard she tried to appear stern, the expression was lost when a grin tugged at her mouth. "I suppose it's because—-" she stopped herself from the obvious answers, hand lifted in a fist, not that she was anywhere close enough to use it on it. Even if she was, hers was no challenging strength! "Anyway, we did not discuss the matter very long. Bob's boyfriend was too busy chewing on his neck." The memory of it made her shudder, complete with a grimace that prompted tiny lines across her lightly freckled nose.

Was that a fist raised at him' He shuddered at the sight! Mischievous grins gave way to a puzzled look that overtook his face, "Chewing on his neck" Was he hungry?", seeming to be genuinely confused on the matter. He slipped from his seat at the table to venture back to the counter, leaning against it as he crossed his arms awaiting a response.

"No— well...maybe. He had a blade poised to Bob's throat and then he moved, Bob that is, and there was a trickle of blood. Evander then latched onto his neck and..." shuddering again, it moved Tink from shoulders to hip. "He is a strange duck, that Bob. I asked if that hurt and he seemed to enjoy it." She turned then, putting her backside to the table as she leaned against it. Pointing a finger his way, she shook it at him. "Don't do that to me." Not that she ever thought he would! "So that was my news and then some." Chuckling a soft laugh, she was amused at how much she told him in such a short time.

Her explanation didn't help his bewilderment on the matter, "Well that's odd," he muttered, "Taking enjoyment in being assaulted; I don't think I would take so kindly to that," shaking his head in conclusion. His eyes widened as Tink gave her warning, "If anything is going toward your neck, it won't be a blade, I can assure you!" All talk on such a strange topic aside, he grinned at her conclusion. "Yes, it seems you've had quite an eventful time," he chuckled, "While I have been here being...," looking over to the couch, he gave off a crooked smile, "...less than productive." His smile lingered as he brought his gaze back to Tink, "I look forward to what lies ahead; it all seems very interesting. I've never owned a dog!", blurting out that last line, he seemed to be keen on the idea.

"How reassuring," she laughed outright at that, brown eyes alit with mirth. "What'll you use" A rope" Your hands?" The amusement continued when he motioned to the couch. "I'm glad you've gotten some rest....been worried that you wouldn't sleep very well." His enthusiasm over the dog made her smile even more. "Neither have I. But I told Bob that we have a goose. If I can train Horace," not that he was trained...."I can train a dog."

His expression was bright with amusement at the playful banter before it softened a bit at her remark on his rest. He still managed a smile as she spoke of training the dog, however, allowing a brief moment before he addressed some thoughts that were on his mind. "You needn't worry about me; I can manage," he replied, his brows folding into a small frown. "I have been concerned for your well being since...," stopping to swallow a lump in his throat, he didn't feel like he needed to explain the events he was referring to, "I just want you to feel safe and....Have you slept well?", trying his best to voice his concern without stumbling too harshly over his words.

The flicker of amusement in her eyes faded when the subject turned to one that caused both of them some tension. "Of course I feel safe," to show the truth of her words, she stepped closer and set both palms against the front of his chest. Elbows bent downward, only her arms served as a buffer between them. "I have been fine....considering. I still get a little nervous when I travel by myself but I refuse to stop," she found a trace of mirth when finishing her sentence. "....living." Gazing into his eyes, she found that her heartbeat sped just a little faster. "I cannot imagine how I'd be without you here." Other than dead, naturally.

As she approached, he brought his arms around her in an embrace, and Tink was sure to find his heart beating faster as she placed her hands over his chest. "I can't imagine what could have happened if I wasn't there," a pained look overcame his face as the idea came to him, "I don't want to." Gazing into her eyes helped fend off any unpleasant thoughts, for a moment he seemed to be lost in them as he held her in his arms, "I...care a great deal about you," even if it seemed evident that was the case, he felt a need to voice it. His mind was cluttered with thoughts of recent events; his feelings toward them and the woman who stood before him ran through him. Unable to find many other words at the moment, he simply offered a tender kiss to her forehead before tightening his embrace, breaking it after a while to offer a crooked smile before bringing his gaze into hers once more.

Her eyes closed in a flutter of lashes when he graced her forehead with a kiss, and eased into the embrace by folding each arm around his waist. Careful on how she rested her cheek on his chest without bending the spectacles, a smile curved to life at the sound of his words. "You do?" Not that she had any doubts, of course. But she could have listened to him say those words all day, every day, and never grow tired of it. "I care a great deal about you, too," confessing the obvious as she pulled back with enough distance to peek up to his eyes. "And I'd like you more if you didn't snore." Hardly the truth, but she wanted so very much to hear his laugh.