RhyDin was known for its crisp, beautiful, chilly fall days, and this day was a picture-perfect November morning. The Rhydin Museum of Histories was hosting a display of ancient magical and scholarly tomes from various lands, as well as several collections of ancient relics of varying degrees of power. Curious minds from all over RhyDin and beyond came to see them, and to hear lectures on the origins of the more noted pieces. The exhibition was to last for a week, and already there was much to see - though the added security forces made sure no one saw too much. The first lectures were done, and people were walking through the marketplace discussing them, and getting food before the afternoon sessions.

Such an exhibit attracted the attention of Wyheree, who had been in a rather grey mood as of late, ever since the....Reunion....of a couple month's passing, when she had learned her Beloved was everything she ever wanted, and everything she could never have. Her darker thoughts set aside in the autumn noon, she finally emerged from the lecture hall to get herself something to eat, but there were SO many people that it was impossible to find anywhere to sit. Finally....she spotted a lone empty chair at a table, and she made a beeline for it - even going so far as to push a youth in armor away from it with a subtle burst of chill winds.

As she approached, she found the other chair at the small table occupied by a most fascinating looking individual, of a type she had never seen in all of her adventures. He was tall, which was not unusual - she lived in a land where many guys were, after all. He was rather large, too - not obscenely muscle-bound, but rather wide and sturdy looking. But most curious of all....he was covered in a dark steel-grey fur, that she could see - he wore a rather plain looking brown robe with a rope belt, yet she could see enough over the collar of the robe. His hands were covered in the same steel grey fur, and tipped with wicked, WICKED looking claws. At his throat and upper chest, the robe showed that steel grey...and just a teasing hint of white fur, perhaps a trick of the sun. His head was not the head of a man, but of a large wolf....and yet not. For his was not the mere head of an actual wolf on a man's body, but slightly different, as if blending humanoid features with the wolf - his muzzle shorter than a wolf's, more rounded, unlike anything or anyone she'd ever seen before. His eyes were a startling royal blue, striking against the steel-grey, poring over a thick tome while eating what looked like spareribs.

Wyh paused for a brief moment, the seat still beckoning her. Her initial thought was the man (for he was definitely male in build and look) was a werewolf, but she quickly determined that was not the case. For starters, the moon was barely waxing. Second, there was no sign of savagery from him, not even in his eating habits - his manners were flawless. Third, his features were not sharp, or cruel, but rather pleasant - almost appealing, in fact. His expression was decidedly curious, as he read - an expression she often had herself, when perusing the many works within her library. Her lunch still in hand (a bowl of a dainty-looking, pasta-laced salad), Wyheree approached the table slowly, a model of elegant, exotic beauty, wearing a rather thin gown of royal blue silk, with a pattern of silver woven through it, and trimmed with silver lace at the cuffs and bodice. Unlike the majority of the other patrons, she did not wear a cloak, the chill in the air exhilarating to the Ice Mage. Her long pale hair was down, a waterfall of foam to her mid-back.

His muzzle twitched slightly, one ear as well, long before she got to him; and he looked up as she reached the table; her first hint of those incredibly blue eyes - eyes that matched her gown exactly. At the closer range, she could see, balanced on the end of his muzzle, pair of wire-rimmed spectacles - a scholary touch so at odds with his fierce countenance, and yet, so fitting. She regarded him with a curious tilt of her head, and a lovely smile, speaking at last, "Is this seat occupied?"

His voice, when he answered, was a delight to her ears. There was a strange resonance, a harmonic echo to it, and he had such an interesting accent. Heavy on the K's and R's and O's, but quite learned, a superior intellect indeed, if she was any judge of such things (and she was, being highly intelligent herself). "Not at all, Madame. I would be honored."

His courtesy and manners were a pleasant surprise - this was no coarse ruffian, no uncouth seaman. His voice had a harshness, to be sure, because of what he seemed to be, but it was balanced with the elegance of his words. Her smile warmed as she took her seat opposite him, setting her lunch down, while smoothing her skirts under the table with her free hand. "Thank you most kindly - it seems all wished to eat at once."

"You are the first to claim that seat since I sat here, some time ago." The tone of his voice suggested a wry amusement.

"I was surprised to find one unfilled, given the mass of people." She took a small bite of her salad.

"I suspect my....appearance put a few off."

She again regarded him with that tilt of her head at him. "Why' You are no stranger than others here." To prove her point, she indicated a draconian curled around several chairs with an airy hand.

He gave a slight chuffing sound, which she immediately knew to be a laugh. "Yes, but that one had comrades already with him." He paused, taking his last bite of lunch, before continuing. "I have noticed something, however. Those who are visiting this place, are the ones who are unnerved. Those who live here, are much less so. May I make the guess, Madame, that you are one of those who live here?"

Wyheree smiled. "Indeed I am - I have lived here for several years now. It is safe to assume, you are visiting?"

"Then, you are quite open-minded." He inclined that huge head in a gesture that evoked acknowledgement and appreciation, then answered her with a nod. "Yes. I am here to see the exhibits and the lectures. And yourself?"

"I am here to see the same - the ancient texts are fascinating."

His right ear twitched slightly. "Did you attend Doctor Verkovka's talk this morning on the origins of the Dryonic tomes?"

She frowned for a brief moment. "Indeed I did - though his conclusions were faulty, at best. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence knows the tomes originated much further west than the Doctor allowed."

"He seems to be invoking the old "Men from the stars" concept to substantiate his claims of the eastern location," His ear twitched again. "while disregarding some of the other and more subtle writings that point west."

"Subtlety is not Doctor Verkovka's specialty." A wryness was in her voice, as she snuck a bite of her near-forgotten salad.

The two of them, in fact, spent the next half hour, without realizing it, without even introducing themselves, talking animatedly about the lecture, and the tomes in question. The crowd was starting to thin slightly as people finished their lunches, while the two of them still talked and ate, and ate, and talked more.

For the remainder of the week, Wyheree found herself in the company of a foreign scholar, one of a race she had never met before, and had never imagined could even exist - though he was no stranger than most races she'd met here, truth be told. The wistful sadness that had hovered over her ever since the Reunion was very nearly gone, borne away by the most pleasant week in her recent memory. Roran seemed fired by her intellect, her mind, and they talked endlessly - mostly about the exhibits and things related to them, but after a day or so, the conversations slowly started to branch out, about other more random things. Being the consummate gentleman, he did not pry into her personal affairs, but a twisting thread revealed that he was unmated (his word) and that she was single; not that they'd been keying on that info, but it had come out rather....obliquely.

The last day had dawned, and although neither had spoken of it, they both had the acute realization the night before, that their time was...almost over. They decided to meet for lunch in the Marketplace, as Wyheree wanted Roran to experience a true RhyDin meal, rather than the "tourist" fare offered at the Exhibition. The Marketplace was a fair bit wilder than the museum - raucous, baudy, with less of the visiting academics and scholars, and more of the usual suspects - including a very rude and crude pirate-type, who recognized Wyh from years past.

And so it came to pass, that a most unwanted meeting took place, and the exchange was hostile - her voice low, so as not to attract further attention, but her words cut like ice shards, "You have no right to speak to me, as if I was naught but a common scullery wench." And as she spoke, the temperature around her plunged, making passers-by shiver and huddle into their cloaks and jackets.

At first, Roran said nothing - this was, clearly, a personal matter, and he did not interfere. But he watched, and listened, intently - his ear flickering every now and then. The sudden chill puzzled him greatly - though that was a matter he would attend to later, for now, he was frowning rather heavily at the rough looking "hooman". Finally, he spoke up, in that at once beautiful and growly voice. "You wrong the Lady, little man. I suggest that you cease." The pirate scoffed. "This ain' no lady - she be a pirate!"

Roran gave the man a scornful look. "She is a Lady, and you are slandering her. This is a public place, and so I cannot ask you to leave it. But I can and I will ask you to back off."

He snorted, and spat on the ground. "She be the Ice Witch!"

Roran's blue eyes flickered. "Let me make it indubitably clear what I mean by back off. When I say back off...I mean..." He snarled, showing ALL of his teeth (admittedly an unsettling sight at best for Wyh, compared to the friend with whom she'd been talking the past week). "BACK. OFF."

His hands slid out of his robe's sleeves, his vicious claws quite apparent as well - Roran had little need to draw a weapon, as Nature gave him his own. His voice was no longer the soft cultured one that Wyh had heard all week - it was a snarl, a bloodthirsty wolf's snarl, that betrayed everything civilized about him.

The man had the option to draw a blade or a pistol, it was true. But even a fool would know that by the time he got the weapon out and up, the huge wolf-being would have those claws well in play. And the man's face and neck were both exposed. And since the man was a coward at heart, he took one look at Roran's teeth and claws, and a dust cloud was all that remained, as he fled into the crowd.

There was a moment of pause, then the snarl faded, and the hands quietly tucked themselves back into the sleeves, his expression quite abashed. "Your forgiveness, Lady Wyheree."

Wyh was visibly unsettled - the claws and teeth only a small part, as the confrontation with the pirate disturbed her more. "No - it is I, would must beg forgiveness from you, Roran."

"Hardly. You did not ask for a ruffian's accostal. I apologize for the unseemly show of savagery...it is not our way in modern times."

"No - but the ruffian....was correct - I was indeed a pirate for a time."

He blinked. "Come again?"

She sighed, and gestured to an out-of-the-way alcove. 'Please - the tale is not for the masses..."

Roran walked with her, away from the small crowd that had been watching the argument. When they reached the alcove, her expression was pained, her silver eyes downcast.

"Lady..." Roran spoke. "You do not need to tell me this tale. I can see it pains you."

"It does, but it is one I must tell you." She paused a moment, then looked up at him, silver eyes to blue. "Three years past, I was not single. I foolishly gave my heart to a pirate captain, and sailed with him."

Roran silently listened, as she continued. "There was an incident, where he was imprisoned, and scheduled to hang. I could not allow that to occur, so I aided his escape, earning the moniker "Ice Witch" from those who witnessed it." She sighed, a flicker of old hurt crossing her eyes. "The marriage ended when he chose his crew's needs....over my own."

One of his eyebrows, bushy and slightly darker than his face, rose as she paused. Wyheree looked Roran in the eye, as she held out her hand, palm up - a small flurry swirling over her fingers, yet the day was a sunny, crisp 45 degrees - far too warm for snow.

His muzzle parted slightly as he watched the flakes dance, the tone of his voice decidedly curious. "I see....you are a magic user?"

"Yes....I can manipulate ice, snow, sleet - any combination of air and water, together or separately."

His expression was an odd mix of seeming fascination and surprise, as she continued. "The pirate captain feared my power, though he never admitted such." Her tone was bitter at that last.

"I...had no idea. My deepest sympathies, Lady." He ducked his head slightly.

She managed a smile, and reached to cup his cheek with her hand, a reassuring, gentle gesture. "It was for the best, truly - though I have no wish to be reminded of my past failings in public, by so-called men who quake in their books at the sight of power."

He growled slightly - softer, the first time she'd ever heard that slightly wicked sound. "He was a coward."

Her fingers lingered on his cheek, for that first touch of his fur was like plush velvet under her slender hand. "Most pirates are cowards at their core, Roran."