The Incident: Continued All was quiet about the marketplace as most shops and stalls were closing for the night; the amber hue of the sky gave way to the darker tones of twilight. As Rikhard was preparing to head home, the sound of small metallic objects hitting the ground caught his attention. It seemed someone had stumbled into a jeweler's stand, knocking some of his wares to the ground as he was packing them for transport.

"Terribly sorry, I stumbled over a rock," the man offered in apology to the jeweler, "I'll help you pick this up." For the moment, Rikhard chose to observe the good samaritan rather than assist as well.

As the pair gathered the jewelry, a thin, surly looking fellow approached the stall, quietly snatching some items from the jeweler's case before casually strolling off again. Rikhard, spotting the theft, approached the man soon after. Forcefully, he took the mans wrist, bringing it up to eye level as he spoke, "Hand me the jewelry or I'll take it myself." In the dim light of the evening, Rikhard could make out a mark on the thief's arm as he held it, a skull with a sinister grin on its face; he had seen that mark before, the Black Prince's lackeys often wore it. Seeing the mark forced Rikhard's grasp to grow stronger, his patience on the matter was thin enough and that certainly didn't help.

The thief met him with a crooked grin, bearing rotten teeth before he replied, ?"S'best not playin" hero. You'll only end up gettin" hurt." Soon after the words left his mouth, he swiftly brought his head forward to strike Rikhard. Knocked off balance, he staggered back, releasing his hold on the man before clutching his nose. The thief grabbed him as he was disoriented, bending him over and delivering a knee to his gut; the man helping the jeweler grabbed some goods as well before they both bolted off into different directions.

Regaining his composure, Rikhard spotted the man who struck him and gave chase as he made his way out of the market and into the outskirts of town; what few onlookers that were still out let them pass, not wanting to get involved. The chase went further out of town, spilling into a nearby forest, but Rikhard was persistent and carried on. The thief's agility proved impressive, bounding over obstacles with ease, however the warrior was not as skilled, struggling to keep up as he was weighed down by armor and a great sword that was slung over his shoulders.

As the pair made it into a clearing, Rikhard's pace quickened, seeing a chance to gain some distance on the man. However, being so caught up in the chase, he didn't seem to notice a breach in the ground, somewhat disguised by fallen leaves, but visible nonetheless; with his next steps, the chase was over quicker than it started.

The ground swallowed Rikhard whole, sending him helplessly tumbling into the cavern below. Further and further he fell, unable to regain his balance, left to the mercy of gravity itself. The space around him was a blur, twisting and turning as he plunged deeper into darkness, but suddenly his surroundings changed, darkness gave way to a bright light, a light that grew intense as he fell into it, nearly blinding him as he was enveloped.

Unpleasant Memories "I swear to the gods, that man better get back here quick," a woman mumbled to herself as she stared intently out the kitchen window of her home. She was a woman of fair complexion and modest height; her long blond hair fell to the middle of her back. A bloodcurdling scream was heard in the distance, twisting her countenance to something much more distressed.

"Mama," a small boy called out, seeking comfort.

"Shh, be still, Rikhard. It's all right," his mother spoke after a brief pause, her attention brought again to the window. She felt a tug on her dress as she bent over the counter, and offered her hand to the boy for consolation.

A fire enveloped a nearby home, and from the height that he stood, all Rikhard could make out was the amber hue emanating from the window as it caught his mothers face, highlighting the distraught look that overtook it. After a moment of silence, she began to undo the latch to the door, quickly letting a familiar face enter before she closed it shut again. He was noticeably winded, his short, dark red hair was frazzled, and he carried a short sword in his hand. Rikhard, although silent, was relieved to see that it was his father.

"Don't you run off like that again!" the woman scolded, "You had me and your boy scared to death!"

Still trying to catch his breath, the father replied, "Love...they're raiding the town...the guard...can't stop them."

Motioning out the window toward the home engulfed in flames, the mother replied, "What of the Erikssons?" Her inquiry was met with only a shake of her husband's head. "W-We need to flee town," she stammered, "Before they find us here."

Rikhard continued to remain silent as they spoke, simply dumbstruck by fear. He was unsure who or what was causing such a commotion, but he was certain that nothing good could come of lingering there much longer. The family made their way into the living room, his father fishing through a drawer before they ventured out.

"Rikhard, you take this," offering the boy a dagger, "I give you permission to use it on anyone that comes near you. Do you hear me?"

The boy nodded before managing to mutter the words: "Y-Yes, father." Even though any assailants had a fair chance at overpowering the boy, being no older than ten, he felt miles safer with the blade in his hand.

"All right, let's —," his father's words were interrupted by the jiggling of the doorknob followed by a few loud thuds on the door itself.

"Anybody hoooome?", a low, raspy voice slithered through the threshold, freezing everybody in their tracks.

His father gripped the sword he held tight, fixing his gaze on the door before he spoke, "Rikhard, go hide in our bedroom," he whispered, "Lydia, go with him as well."

Quickly, Rikhard took his mother's hand as she led him to their destination, opening a wardrobe and moving several coats and dresses aside for him to hide between.

"Stay here," she whispered, "I'm going to help your father." She was not going to sit idly by as her husband was left alone to defend his home and family.

"Mama," Rikhard muttered, but she was already gone, leaving the door of the wardrobe left slightly ajar in her hurry. He did not want to be alone, not one bit, but he could not find himself to move from where he stood.

(Scenes played by Rikhard and Tinker Dreams) (Many thanks to Tink for taking the time to copy/paste this scene!)

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.

((End))

It was another quiet day at the cottage, and Rikhard took a moment from his duties to rest. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he brought a quill and ink to make another addition to his journal; a sleek doberman, Chester, laid at his master's feet as he wrote.

All has been well for the most part in the past days. No incidents have befallen Tink and I, and for that I am grateful. I was very worried concerning our safety ever since the day we found odd bits of paper scattered about the land; they seemed to bear our image upon them. I was not sure what to make of such a finding, but Tink's words and the quiet atmosphere are certainly helping to lessen my concerns; perhaps those papers were not pertaining to us at all. It's difficult not to be cautious, especially after having to deal with an attacker not too long ago; I just hope Tink does not find me to be overly so. Chester does a very good job of helping me keep vigil when he isn't hogging my spot on the bed, the beast!

Chester raised his head to look up at Rikhard. The doberman, sensing he was being written about, rumbled a lazy growl from his throat before laying his head back down.

While I'm focusing on thoughts of the dog, he was awfully restless during our extended time indoors due to an awful blizzard only a week ago. Tink kept mentioning weather seers, talking of an upcoming storm; I dismissed their predictions at the time, wondering why there was so much fuss over a bit of snow. Thankfully, Tink heeded the seers" words, and we had the proper supplies to sustain ourselves and the animals throughout the snowstorm; that woman is just as resourceful as she is endearing.

Our times together can certainly be pleasant, but our recent confinement was not without its trials; Chester was not the only restless one in the cottage. Tink was...less than pleased with my snoring; I will say the conditions of those days led to some interesting behavior and leave it at that. At first I thought she mentioned it as a jest, but the problem seems to be more real than I imagined. Perhaps I should see somebody about a possible remedy"

"Come, Chester. You want to go out for a bit?" Rikhard spoke as he stood from his spot at the table, leaving his journal where it lay.

Quickly the doberman sprung from his his spot under the table; understanding it was time for some play, he eagerly bolted to the door. Carefully avoiding Chester's whip-like tail as it flailed about in excitement, Rikhard made his way outside, the dog close behind.

Stir Crazy Cont.

"Hmm, odd...," he muttered, absently staring into the fire as Chester made his way over. The doberman got his wish and was scratched behind the ear without delay. As he tended to Chester, Tink was spotted again as she made her way to the hearth with a kettle; the prospect of tea was certainly pleasing, and he awaited it with dull anticipation. Just about everything about Rikhard seemed dull at the moment; as Tink was already moving about, he struggled to find himself fully awake. With that same weary tone of voice, he addressed the inventor as she prepared her water, "What time is it," he yawned, "Aren't you cold in that?" Like she had been walking around in a nightgown all day and didn't just suddenly wake up due to his incessant snoring. Now was probably not the time for stupid questions, but Rikhard's brain didn't seem to be all there. No, Tink was only met with oblivious questions as he continued to lounge on the couch.

"I haven't a clue what time it is," she admitted with a sigh, glancing to one of the dark windows as if a single look might make them open wide to reveal the sun instead of snow in the sky. "Think it might be the middle of the night." At least that was what it felt like considering she didn't sleep. "Aye, I'm cold. That's why I'm making tea," she turned a squinted stare his way, but the attention veered off as she went in search of a blanket. She found a knitted one in a series of blue and green lines, crocheted by one of the merchants in the marketplace in exchange for three dozen eggs. A purposeful swing had it smacking Rikhard in the face, and that time there was no denying that she did it on purpose.

If he was weary before, he certainly wasn't anymore! With a blanket having just been swung at his face, he sent a wide-eyed stare over to Tink; he could hardly register what happened after being so startled into alertness. His hair was sufficiently bedraggled by the couch already, but the sudden strike did nothing to improve that. His glance moved from Tink to Chester, and he offered the dog a confused stare, seeking confirmation that did indeed just happen. Back again to the inventor he glanced; he was finding difficulty believing that she purposefully swung at him, but her intention seemed crystal clear. The onset of a baffled grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he brought himself to words, "All right, now you just hit me." Yes, he was quick on the draw today; nothing gets past Rikhard! The master of perception now wished to seek some clarification, "Did I...do something?"

"I didn't see you sitting there..." It was, after all, a half-truth. With her eyesight, he was nothing but a tousled-haired blur. "Sorry," she added with very little by the way of apology in her tone of voice. "Some tea?" That, of course, was the soothing balm to being kicked and smacked with a blanket. Clutching the crocheted coverlet closer, she held it tight against her chest until her path was blocked by a counter. Ever so quick, she grabbed one mug then another, and deftly prepared both for tea. The usual view out the window was blocked by the shutters, but already a thin stream of snow started to accumulate between the wood, getting in through a sliver of a crack from the casement. Chester looked just as confused, his dark eyes veering from one master to the other. Taking his cue to not get in the middle, he found his bedding by the hearth, circled twice, then dropped in a heap of short, black fur.

"Err, it's all right," he responded. He was relieved everything was all right...according to her words at least; her tone was not quite as reassuring. "Yes, please," he added, gladly accepting the offer of tea. Finally he brought himself to stand as Chester made his way toward his bedding, stretching another yawn to bring himself to full alertness. Taking a quick glance out of a nearby window, he let forth a small grunt of disapproval, not only at the weather, but the fact that he had difficulty determining the hour as well. "Do you need any help?" he inquired, his socks gave a dull thud to his footsteps as he made his way across the cottage. Soon enough he was at Tink's side searching for any way to lend a hand to her endeavor.

"No, I think it's all good," she glanced down to the two prepared mugs, though both lacked the signature lemon wedges. Turning to rest a cushioned hip on the counter, her brown eyes rose to take in the sight, albeit slightly blurred, of his profile. "It's going to be a long few days if the snow keeps up." Inwardly, she knew it was the stress of the storm and the events that occurred shortly before it that teased her temper to new heights. But the sound of his snoring echoed in her ears, even now, and that made her bristle all over again. "Come the spring, I really do think we need to expand on the cottage — make another room so the bed can be further away from the..." snoring! "...rest of the living space."

Stir Crazy Cont.

Rikhard had trouble putting a finger on what changed as well. The air felt so tense and it only worsened when she commented on his snoring! "Yes, well...," and that's all he had to say about that subject. He broke his gaze from Tink for a moment to compose himself; he was feeling the heat as well, and it wasn't entirely from the kettle. Why did that irk him so' He can usually take some criticism on his snoring, but now it just felt like she was making mountains out of molehills; although, if he were subjected to it, he might change his tune. "What's all of this fuss about snoring?" he wondered. Those thoughts were gone as quickly as they entered his head as Tink's next words fell upon his ears: "Do you love me?" Oh how they echoed about in his mind as he fumbled to bring his thoughts to words! Was this a trick question' He struggled to find the "right" answer to such an inquiry. After a brief moment of silence, which seemed like an eternity to Rikhard, he brought his gaze over to Tink and managed to speak. "Well...I do care about you...a great deal," he replied, offering a soft grin. He took another moment to laugh a bit, not at the question, but at himself; he was in amazement at how he was managing to piece together a sentence at all. "Yes," he continued, "I think I do love you." Just as he finished speaking, he inwardly kicked himself for his reply, "You think" Fool!"

While he considered her words, whether it was the snoring accusation or her bombshell of a question, Tink took a few steps closer, waiting for the tea to cool. And, for his answer. With the distance shortened, she watched his expression with the intensity of a hawk —though her eyes were squinted to see past the veil of a blur. His hesitation annoyed her and she felt the straightening of her spine until she was her full height. The silence was deafening for a few fleeting moments. Even the chaotic frenzy of the window seemed to calm. The same could not be said for the tempest of Tink's anger. Each second that passed and Rikhard remained in silence made her fingers tighten upon the mug. And then he had the nerve to laugh! She blinked up at him, trying in vain to find the source of the amusement. A stirring of temptation rose up and she had the good sense to set her mug down lest it find a trajectory path to his head. Think" Think!" "You think or you know?" She swallowed then, almost afraid to know the answer. Yet, at the same time, she needed to hear it. Needed to hear him say the words. In her mind, if he said the words than all the little nuances of annoyance would simply fade away.

The silence was almost as nerve-wracking for him as it was for her. He didn't wish to let forth such an air of uncertainty, but he was simply dumbfounded at the sudden change in tone. The bond he felt with her was unmistakable; there was no denying it. He's brought himself in harm's way not once, but twice to save her, and that established feelings that not many other incidents can bring. She's grown from a friendly woman he met at the inn to one of the few people that made him feel like he was truly welcomed in RhyDin; if it was not for her, he would probably be clamoring for a way back home, but that was currently the least of his worries. It wasn't the prospect of food or a home that brought him to reside in Tink's cottage, it was the woman herself. Why was that so hard to express" A lump formed in his throat that he found difficult to swallow; his heart raced as he felt her annoyance as he fumbled over his initial response. His brows furrowed in concern; he wanted to alleviate her doubts; seeing her that way gnawed at him inside. Silently taking a deep breath, he brought himself to assure her, to cleanse any clouds of doubt. With a hushed tone he brought his hands to her waist in a gentle embrace and replied, "I know. Thenia...I love you. I can't bear the thought of you being harmed; I would not protect you so fiercely otherwise." He only hoped that response appeared more confident than the last.

She had woken with paws in her back and the droning sound of snoring ringing in her ears. That, more than likely, attributed to the soured mood she found herself wrapped within. That -had- to be the reason why it felt as if a perpetual scowl graced her features. But when he admitted those words, a wave of relief washed over her with the force of a tsunami. A smile tugged at her mouth; not just any smile but a softened one that inspired a flicker of dimples. Both her arms stretched up to wrap a hold around his neck, not even aware that blanket slipped past her shoulders and draped over her backside, kept in place by the place of his hands at her hips. "I love you, too," she confessed in a quieter tone, one blessedly free of snark or sarcasm. Fingers toyed with reddish-blonde pieces of his hair, drawing a half-step closer to trap the warmth between them. "And I'm sorry if I was ....abrupt with you." Abrupt — the new code word for kicking when he was asleep or assault with crocheted blanket. "I think I'm just worried about the storm."

As she was relieved, so was he. A heavy weight was removed from Rikhard's shoulders, and a wave of invigorating energy washed over him. It brought him great relief not only to express his feelings for Tink, but to know they were reciprocated as well. Caught in their embrace, he pulled her that much closer, basking himself in her warmth. Her apology and concerns were heard, and he wished to assure her further that all was well. "It's all right. The storm will be over before you know it, and spring will be just over the horizon. He offered her a grin for reassurance, and it only widened as he admired her from where he stood. Thoughts of her brief, dimpled smile filled his mind; it always seemed to bring him joy. "You're damn hard to be cross at. Do you know that?" he chuckled, speaking in a jovial tone in an attempt to get another glimpse of her smile. It was one of the things that made him forget about the storm altogether.

"Late season storms are the worse, I suppose. Makes the wait for warmer weather all the more impossible—-" pulled closer, she had no trouble folding her arms around his shoulders so that they could each sense the other's heartbeats. "You were cross at me" What on earth did I do that was so terrible?" Aside from the kicking, smacking, and sarcasm, of course. She purposely waited a silent count to ten before gracing him with a smile, partly amused and mostly mischief. Outside, the wind whipped into a frenzy, tossing snow into deep drifts against the cottage and the nearby barn. Every so often she needed to remind herself that the animals were safe and secure, and that by morning —or whenever the snow stopped— they'd be free to wander in a late winter wonderland.