Another nearly sleepless night as he sits at the window in his room, the window cast open to let in the night breeze.

Another nearly sleepless night as he try and figure out just how things got to where they are right now.

The fingertips of his right hand worked absently over the band of braided leather about his left wrist. A gift from her....from S'jira....from the one that now looked to him as her master, the one that considered herself his servant, his property, his....slave.

It was barely a month or so past that he first met the small woman, huddled near the hearth. He knew right away she was a stranger to town, didn't know how she got here, but that didn't matter. So many like this end up at the Dragon. But there was something about this one that was different. Yes, she was a beauty. But the way she carried herself, shied from his gaze....from any gaze....He suspected from the start, but she was alone, so he couldn't be sure.

He ended up offering her a job, laundry and such a few days a week. The standard pay was offered, and a room where a number of other workers stay was part of the deal. She accepted both.

Over the following weeks, she became a fixture about the Inn. Whether in the back working on washing or folding, or sitting at the hearth, mending linens. And slowly he would learn her story. Some from her directly, some from whispered words, and some from a bit of outright snooping. She was a slave, more than likely born as such. Her most recent master was killed and lay near RhyDin. And now she was alone, fending for herself. And doing quite well at it. Even without the work he offered, she was surviving.

He had tried to show her this on an occasion or two, but to change such ways, if it is possible, will take more than a brief stay at the Dragon and some encouraging words from him.

When he returned to the Inn, it was later than planned. At his second stop after they parted ways in the market, he had found choosing the one he wanted more difficult than he thought it would be.

Then there was some further searching. Information to be sought. That took even longer, and was not nearly as successful. But time would bring more.

As he entered, he found her in the familiar spot near the hearth, working on some mending.

"I found something after you left...." he said to her as he took a seat on the small table at the edge of the hearth.

She met his gaze with watchful, curious eyes. "What was found?"

A small package, about the size of a bar of soap, wrapped in a scrap of embroidered fabric and tied with a deep blue ribbon was pulled from his pouch and offered to her.

He caught the slight frown that crossed her features as she accepted it and undid the ribbon. As the fabric fell away to reveal the two small bottles her eye lit again and the frown turned once again to a smile as she guessed the contents of the bottles. "Yes, oils. Jasmine and Cinnamon."

He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, enjoying watching her when she leaned forward, brushing a light kiss along the edge of his jaw, thanking him. Instinctively he turned his head in to the touch, watching as she sat again. "You are most welcome." He watched a moment longer as she cradled the bottles in her hands, enjoying the smile that played along her features.

As moments passed and his thoughts drifted, it was her turn to watch him. "You are worried. Please, say what will ease your mind."

"Your well being eases my mind. Your safety." came the quiet response.

"You have changed 'jira....since you have come here," as he looked to her face, "you have done things that I believe have surprised you."

"Selfish things," she whispered back.

"Such things are not always bad. You have ghosts, that I am not sure I can fight."

"Ghosts...cannot be fought. But it is said they can be faced, like fears." And as she dropped her gaze to the bottles in her hand, he knew that this needed to happen. "There is no wish to put another through it." She continued on, her gaze still lowered.

"That choice is mine to make." was his firm reply.

"Yes.." He watched as her gaze slipped to the ring of bells about her ankle. "My choice to help a friend. Did he..Kiroth....give you those?"

She nodded. "One of those ghosts. Perhaps ..when the time comes you will favor with the removing of them?"

Possibly a sign of his ignorance, but before then, he had not put any thought to the bells being any more than they were. "Even with him ....gone....you still wear them?"

"Yes. These hands are not strong enough to remove them." The duality of the situation was not lost on him. He simply gazed at her for what seemed like hours, but was in reality but a few seconds.

"Give me your foot." His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking that it was not a request.

She eased back on her hip and resting back on her hands her right foot was lifted. He cupped the heel in his hand and brought it to his knee. he could hear her pulse quicken as his fingers moved over the bells. Slipping first one finger from each hand between metal and flesh he started to pull. This was not going to happen without leaving some mark on here. Hopefully the physical and others would quickly heal. The light band of metal holding the string of bells was strong, but as more pressure was applied, the force against the narrow edge of his claws proved enough to split the band in two, scattering the pieces to the pieces to the floor.

The foot and ankle were brushed over with a hand, only a minor wound from where the metal dug into flesh. He lowered her foot and reached for her hand, drawing her to kneel before him. The gift from another was removed from her neck, and her questioning look was answered....

"Keep it close....It is yours to keep." He reached for an object set aside a few moments before. "But I want it understood by all that you are not for the taking. While you sleep under my roof....while I breath....you are under my protection. Under my care..."

He took the gemstone, an emerald green cats eye lashed to a thong of black leather and placed it about her neck. So far the words had come easy, his voice firm and steady, "Until you...and you alone ask otherwise, you are....mine." right up until that last one.

A quiet "Thank you, " followed by her leaning forward to brush a temple to his cheek was her response.

They spoke little more that night, except for him to tell her to continue with her other duties, her work with the fisher-woman. That for now, nothing else would change. He caught his gaze on her, on the pendant now about her neck. "It weighs upon your heart?" she asked.

"No. No regrets."

He meant it then. He feels it now.

There is much else he feels....uncertain....nervous....maybe more.

But no....no regrets.