Finally, a clear, dry night. Solona collapsed onto the rooftop of her watchtower in time to see the first stars peeking out of the darkening sky overhead. Stiffness wracked her shoulders, the first lungful of the open air catching in her throat. She rolled her neck and tried to shrug off the tension stored in her body. She'd been waiting all day to escape the prying eyes of the fortress

The day had been an awkward, confused chore, with a troublesome internal dialogue distracting her focus at every turn. It was still strange to imagine that she'd woken up that morning in Anders' bed, her body chafed and sore from at least two rounds of furious fucking. There was no denying that he was a generous, eager lover, satisfying her entirely up until the point that he'd literally passed out. For a time her mind had been scrubbed clean of worries and doubts, but only until she'd returned to her own room and washed her body raw over the basin. With a fresh robe on she'd lain staring into the darkness, suffering through the eternal minutes of confused numbness, simultaneously aching for and dreading breakfast.

Wincing at the jumble of images behind her eyes, Solona slammed her palm into her forehead again and again. She wasn't sure she'd ever in her life felt so stupid.

Breakfast the next morning — once she'd finally dragged herself off the bed and down the hall — had seen her turmoil resumed and amplified. Sitting with Anders ahead of her and Nathaniel to the left, she could only keep her head drooped low over her plate and let the curtains of her hair block out the view while she ate. Anders' cheery morning chatter faded behind the back-and-forth of her own thoughts, while Nathaniel's silent shadow continued to tug at something in her chest, causing her to chance nervous glances out the corner of her eye. He wasn't even ignoring her as most men who'd taken a blow to the ego might've done. He'd greeted her with a warm good morning once she'd finally straggled in. A flare of disoriented boldness made her choose to sit directly beside him, despite the fact that there were multiple seats available. He'd poured her hot coffee from the carafe, and slid a plate of fresh biscuits her direction, with a little nod that seemed to confirm that he'd noticed they were her favorite. The boldness left her abruptly, like a punch to the gut. She almost spilled the coffee bringing it to her mouth, and had decided not to butter the biscuits in order to keep her trembling fingers from view. More than any other morning his presence reduced her knees to jelly. She was thankful she was already sitting at the time her nerves took hold, or she might have wobbled right over onto the floor.

After Nathaniel's plate was empty he sat in silence, breathing in the steam from his mug, the pale of his cheek a sharp contrast to his ropes of black hair. He seemed comfortable and serene, giving away nothing of his internal state. A sanguine blush lined his tired eyes, but the bright grey-blue of his irises flicked toward her at regular intervals. Solona twice caught herself combing back her hair and smoothing out the wrinkles in her robe, her fingers fidgeting self-consciously over her appearance in a way she'd not cared to do in months. But this morning she was acutely aware of being discreetly watched by at least two pairs of eyes.

Anders' were the easiest of the two to meet. She held his gaze with the same authority that seemed to turn him on so much during the night, both daring him to say something revealing and pleading with him not to. Something glimmered in his smirk, some softness that seemed equal parts amusement and reassurance, but each time he prepared to say something questionable he quietly deferred to her glare and looked away. Solona was grateful, even as she kept her fists clenched in her lap.

Scenes from their night together continued to flash behind her eyes, comically juxtaposing with Anders' mundane breakfast gossip. That cheerful yammering sounded so different from the noises he'd made in bed, the coos and whimpers, the grunts and growls. With how abashedly loud he'd been, Solona was surprised she'd never heard him through the walls on any other night that he had company. Unless of course, he just wasn't like that for everyone.

His long, elegant neck thrown back in ecstasy, chest toned and lithe, hair darkened by sweat clinging to his temples. Lines of pink streaked up the length of Anders' chest, the afterburn of Solona's dragging fingers. Anders writhed and clenched, his hips driving upward, his cock pounding waves of pleasure up her belly. Musky scent of sweaty sex in her nose, hands sliding over moistened abdominals, Solona set a forceful rhythm. Straddled over him her eyes recorded every act: Anders' sucking in a mouthful of her breast, before rolling her nipple between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out. His head yanked back as she directed his attentions with a fistful of his hair, his maple eyes blazing, eager for her next command.

He'd raised a curious brow each time she turned her head away from his attempt to kiss her mouth. She'd allowed him to taste any other part of her that he wished, but avoiding his kiss was the one emotional safeguard she could think to maintain. A deep, passionate kiss never failed to obliterate her defenses, a weakness of hers exploited by Alistair whenever he had a mind to get his way. She'd been powerless against it then, and couldn't handle the possibility of that happening again.

At first she'd wished she'd had more to drink. Her brain seemed to work overtime, flitting from admiring Anders' beauty and sexual skill, to worrying over how she'd left Nathaniel, to trying to block both men out by forcing herself to think of Alistair. But Alistair's body was so different from Anders'. She'd squeezed her eyes shut and tried to superimpose an image of her golden skinned Templar over that of the lanky mage, but the picture her hands transmitted disagreed with her attempt at fantasy. Everything about Anders was smaller. His chest was cut with strength, but not broad in the right way. His shoulders were toned and sinewy, but lacking any real bulk. The caress of his fingers was remarkably light, and certainly not the urgent, hungry pawing she'd grown so accustomed to during the blight. The pained whine of Anders' voice a more feminine sound than any of Alistair's throaty keening. So much of the experience of Anders was at odds with what her mind wanted, though that fact didn't seem to inhibit her body's satisfaction.

There'd been a moment somewhere in the small hours of the morning where Alistair faded out of her mind entirely and an untethered thought drifted firmly back to Nathaniel.

Solona's palms sought a trail over Anders' chest and shoulders, wondering how different it would feel with Nathaniel. She closed her eyes and pulled the man in her arms upright as she resettled her hips and draped her arms around his shoulders, throwing her head back to allow him to bite at her neck. She breathed in the herbal aroma clinging to his skin and hair; an exotic, almost spicy scent, distinctly different from Nathaniel's but not unpleasant in its own way. Anders' touches changed based on her urging, and occasionally his fingertips tingled with some helpful magic. His hips constantly adjusted angle and speed, tuning into her evolving rhythms. It was not hard to understand how he might be welcomed again and again back into someone's bed, even after he'd dashed their hopes for anything more meaningful.

She'd hardly noticed when Nathaniel completely took the place of both Alistair and Anders in her mind, her closed lids playing pictures of those full lips and nimble fingers dancing over her skin. She couldn't help but imagine how the heat of that steely gaze might burn through his kiss. His eyes scorched in her mind as she recounted every his physical detail: his agile grace, his striking coloring, his soothing croon. The arms around her belonged to him for a precious moment; the whisper of the mage's hair through her fingers could easily have been black to her unseeing eyes.

She'd had to stop herself after she realized she'd slowed down their pace, replacing firm, impatient touches with tender, affectionate ones. It had only been an hour, maybe two, since she'd run out from under the bridge ahead of him. His confession echoed again in her memory, making her stomach lurch so hard it forced an agonized groan from her throat. Anders misinterpreted the sound, his arms tightening around her waist, his stubbled chin scraping her collarbones. She tried to shake away the thought that Nathaniel might be thinking of her that very moment, but it stubbornly persisted.

I think of you too.

Would she be in Nathaniel's bed instead of Anders' if she had stayed with him? If she'd said more?

It was too late to find out.

A deep well of anguish throbbed in her chest, her ribcage achingly hollow. Releasing Anders from her embrace, Solona unmounted him, and crawled ahead to position herself on her knees.

"Hard," she'd instructed, and Anders had happily obeyed.

Laying back against the slate roof, Solona stifled a shiver and let her head roll against the stone as she peered up into the stars. Two freshly emptied flasks clattered together in her pocket, the liquor burning a hole in the pit of her stomach. The murmuring of the courtyard drowned out by the blustering wind, the prickle of her fellow Warden's movements fading into nothingness as they relaxed into distant corners of the Keep. All day her mind had roiled with regrets, exhausting itself with what-ifs. With repetitions of fantasy in which Alistair was relegated to the background rather than the main feature. And sometimes, many times in fact, not present at all. Sitting there, alone in the dark, was the most relief she'd felt all day.

With eyes closed, her mind wandered down to the courtyard, involuntarily seeking the sensation of the man that had been on her mind the entire day. Somewhere near the basement entrance moved a Warden, but it was impossible to tell if it was him. Eyes opened, the stars blurred and began a lazy, alcohol fueled spin around the sky overhead. Cold air stung her lungs with each deep breath. She wished for the millionth time upon a distant fuzz of starlight that she could find some peace, some certainty. Death had always seemed the best way to find such things, but that option seemed further away than ever. She cast another wish that at the very least, she could know what to say to the people who made an effort to know her.

Nathaniel, I'm sorry.

Solona sighed tiredly, figuring that when the time came, she could start with that.

Another tired sigh elongated into a groan. Solona's fingers squeezed at the bridge of her nose. The noise inside her head slowly wound down, the bitter cold emanating off the slate beneath her losing its sharpness. Blackness fuzzed away her thoughts, her consciousness slipping, sinking into itself, finally giving up its grip on reality.

Feeling unreasonably fresh and sober upon waking in her bed, Solona sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. At least this time she'd had the sense to remove her boots and get under the covers, though she still couldn't remember the walk from the tower to her room. It was a mysterious yet handy little trick, this ability to get from a rooftop on the other side of the Keep to her quarters while blackout drunk. She supposed the day might come when she wouldn't make the trip as successfully, but she'd worry about that when it happened.

Her mood stabilized, worries mollified by a deep night's sleep, Solona took her place at the breakfast table feeling newly unconcerned with all the awkwardness of the last few days. Some time and distance seemed to have helped. What had happened, both with Anders and Nathaniel, was done. She was beholden to neither of them for anything. Even if Nathaniel did find out about Anders, which he was sure to eventually, did it matter if he had an opinion on what she chose to do with her free time? If it soured his view of her a little, that would make things a little easier. That had been why she'd gone to Anders' room in the first place, right?

Clearing her mind, Solona focused on her food, on emptying mug after mug of coffee, of going over the day's duties in her head. She'd asked a few questions of Anders and Nathaniel once breakfast was done, and then retreated to the main hall, where the Seneschal held several troublemakers who required judgment. Solona had insisted that the first criminal, a farmer named Alec who'd been caught stealing food, be recruited into the army so he could afford to buy rather than steal what he needed. The next, a soldier named Danella who'd gone AWOL, was imprisoned. Varel pointed out that executing the two of them would be much less of a strain on the Keep's already overtaxed resources, but Solona held firm that the two deserved leniency. Once she and Varel exhausted all other conversation, Solona strolled out into the courtyard, where the sun's rays slipped through fast moving clouds, alternating bursts of warm brilliance with spates of cloudy shade.

It was a day well suited for getting things done, with a cold numbness keeping her emotions at bay and her mind clear. Despite Varel's scoffing, she felt pleased with the justice she'd metered out. Listening to both Alec and Danella plead their cases reminded Solona of the tragic difficulties endured every day by the common people of the land. The Wardens had an obligation to be a force of strength and protection for all the residents, and there was so much more they should be doing to that end. A cold realization that it wasn't enough to just kill darkspawn began to sink in.

Glancing around the courtyard, Solona's eye traveled to the other Wardens within her range. Nathaniel stood in deep discussions with Wade and Herren, his hands gesturing gracefully as he spoke. Oghren sat at a grindstone sharpening his axe. Behind her, traveling quickly, was another Warden she didn't bother to identify, and somewhere inside dwelled the last.

Five of us. It's not nearly enough for the amount of darkspawn we've seen.

As she made her way across the courtyard toward Voldrik, she mentally listed prominent soldiers who might have a chance at surviving the Joining. Garevel would make a good Warden. As would that swordsman who often practiced below her watchtower, a blond haired man with broad shoulders and a killer lunge. It wasn't as good as Alistair's lethal lunge and slash, but it had been impressive enough to catch Solona's eye a few times. Varel might not be pleased with her risking their soldiers, however.

A quiet hour passed listening to Voldrik drone on about his plans for the granite they'd found in the Wending Wood. The dwarf patiently walked her around the walls pointing out areas that needed fortification, same as Nathaniel had done for winterizations a few days before. Alec and Danella's stories still echoed in her mind, growing into a lump of guilt that Solona swallowed down uneasily. Outside the Keep walls, farmers were having to steal to feed their families, soldiers deserting their stations in order to protect their homes. And here the Wardens sat, gorging themselves on massive breakfasts while safely protected by the Keep walls, however in need of repair they might have been. It was a much richer situation than the rest of the arling could claim. Solona resolved to revisit the Seneschal that evening and go over the budget to look for cuts that might allow them to send more resources out to the people rather than investing it all into an already functional fortress.

"Sol!"

Behind her, a Warden approached. Solona turned to see Anders jogging from the direction of the main hall. His jaw was set in a such a way that rattled her; it wasn't usual to see him looking so serious. In the distance behind him, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder to watch Anders' approach.

"So, ah… just a heads up," Anders began as he leaned in, "I happened to overhear some whispers among a few of our esteemed guests…"

Solona eyed him, curious. Leading her gently toward a more isolated corner of the courtyard, he walked close enough that his chest brushed against her upper arm. A light pressure at the small of her back had her instinctively pulling away from his touch, her heart fluttering wildly. She wasn't sure if it was due to Anders' brown eyes focused sharply on her, or if it was Nathaniel watching them from several meters away.

"Whispers of what sort?"

"Oh, you know. The ominous sort."

Solona sighed. "Specifics, Anders."

"Look, watch your back is what I'm saying. Sounds like there are some people who think they can handle things around here better than you can." Anders pulled his finger across his throat and stuck his tongue out.

A frown pulled at Solona's brows, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Watching the dull shine of her boots as they crunched the grass with each step, she let the warning sink in. An assassin would have been a welcome prospect a week or so ago. It still was, wasn't it? Her stomach flipped uneasily.

Solona shrugged, the gesture seeming forced and overwrought. If it happens, it happens.

Her glance to Anders was met with distractingly warm, glinting eyes.

"Guests," she repeated. "So a few of the visiting nobles and not anyone actually staying here?"

"Correct," Anders confirmed. "It was rather vague but there was no question about the meaning. There appears to be a conspiracy afoot." A long quiet moment passed while Solona tuned into Nathaniel's presence in the distance. He hadn't moved.

An assassin in the Keep was certainly an interesting development, and one she couldn't quite muster the energy to fear. If anything she felt a prickle of irritation at their inconvenient timing. There suddenly seemed to be more things she needed to do first, though she struggled to identify exactly what.

Unsure what kind of reaction she was supposed to be providing in the face of such news, Solona's focus returned to Anders. Under the cold light of the sun she could see his every flawed, beautiful detail: the flecks of green in his left iris, how the rough shadow of his stubble strengthened his jaw, his jaw and brow peppered with numerous small scars, likely from a few of the injuries he'd sported in the circle. His rows with the Templars had been legendary, with Anders bragging about them for weeks afterward despite his own fat lips and black eyes. She heard that the Templars would feed him magebane for a time afterward, so that he couldn't heal his own wounds.

His eyes flitted around her face in return, seeming to soften with each passing second. Finally, his dour expression broke.

"You'll be safe in my room," His lip curled suggestively. "I'll make sure of it."

Solona snorted as she squashed down a smile. Part of her delighted in the fact that she was the subject of such teasing, after so many years in the circle longing for any of his attention. Part of her wasn't at all sure she even wanted a repeat of the night before.

"Yes, I know, you can handle yourself just fine," he continued in his sing-song way. "Actually you'd probably end up protecting me. Not that I'd mind. I do love a powerful woman."

Solona's cheeks grew warm. She cast a glance over her shoulder confirming that the closest person to them was out of earshot. Nathaniel's back was to them again, but his posture was decidedly rigid.

"So anytime you want to come boss me around a bit more…" Anders turned to follow Solona's gaze. "He can come too. I'm…flexible."

Releasing a quiet laugh, Solona shook her head and put a little more space between them.

"Well thanks for the warning," Solona said with finality, hoping Anders got the hint.

He didn't. She moved herself away from him, wandering toward the entrance to the Keep village. Pacing her, his smirk continued to spread.

The moment stretched on, growing heavy with words unspoken. Feeling exposed and a little embarrassed Solona brought them to a stop and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You really like that, don't you?" Solona asked with a raised eyebrow. "Being bossed around?"

Anders gave a little confirming shrug, but the glint in his eye grew to a blaze.

"By you I do. You scare me a little. It's hot."

Solona snorted.

"Okay," she answered remembering that Nathaniel might still be looking on. Might as well have a little innocent fun with this.

"You want some commands to follow? Go help Lya with dinner preparations. Do whatever she asks without question. And make sure there are extra of those rosemary roasted potatoes she makes," Solona said, her stomach growling at the thought. A smirk of her own surfaced. "And don't even think about taking a bite of anything until we're all at the table and I give you permission."

Anders' smile widened garishly, which he tried to press down as he gave an obedient nod. Without another word he turned to hurry toward the kitchen.

"Wait," she called, remembering the reason he'd come to speak to her in the first place. He stopped and turned to listen. "Keep your ear open for more about this conspiracy."

His covered the courtyard's distance quickly and Nathaniel's head turned as he passed, following Anders as he made his way toward the hall door. Even with so much space between them, Solona could sense Nathaniel's irritated expression. He and Anders had never gotten on, but the tension between them over the past week seemed to be escalating, almost as if they both knew. Solona sighed and scanned the yard for something distracting to do. A pang of uneasiness shot through her. What a mess.

Nathaniel gathered up the new silverite arrowheads that Wade had crafted him, rolling them into a length of leather that he could pocket until he could add them to his new supply of arrows. Wade's work was impeccable as always, upping the armor piercing capabilities of his arrows significantly, which was good considering a few of the darkspawn they'd encountered recently had surprisingly heavy armor. He sighed as he tucked the rolled leather away inside his lapel.

"Anything else you need?" Herren asked, tapping his foot.

"Not sure yet," Nathaniel said as he hovered over a collection of enchanted rings and pendants. Jewelry felt so out of place on him, but shit if those enchantments weren't useful at times.

The sensation of Anders finally passed by, heading back into the main hall. Nathaniel watched the mage as he swaggered toward the door and then chanced another glance toward Solona, seeing her frowning down at her boots, her brows cut into a deeper scowl than even her usual. Whatever Anders had said to her, despite his overly-familiar gestures and that blighted cockiness of his, hadn't seemed to be particularly good news. Nathaniel had tried not to watch them, telling himself again and again that she'd made her wishes clear, that it was time to stop being so fixated. Both mornings since that night he'd made an effort to make himself approachable in case she wanted to talk. But it had been nearly 36 hours and she'd shown no inclination to do so. Time to move on.

Still his eyes were drawn to her, the way it had been since the day they'd met, though she'd changed a little in the past several days. She looked a little more put together, her hair clean and loose from its usual messy bun, hanging in a glossy sheet down her back. The rich brown of her hair and eyes stood in stark contrast to her porcelain-pale skin, but she didn't look gaunt anymore. Her robe was one of her usual, a velvety emerald green with a high collar which fit smartly against her slender body, but it too seemed to pop with a new freshness. More and more she seemed to exist in a vibrant burst of color, where so much of the rest of the Keep was grey and dingy.

The memory of carrying her back into her room the night before invaded his memory, and for a second Nathaniel closed his eyes and fell into it. The cold night air had caused her to curl against his chest, allowing him to breathe in her delicate scent. She hadn't stirred at all for the whole walk back to her room, nor as he unlaced her boots, and made sure she was warm under her blanket. He went through the motions as though they were the last time he ever would. Part of him had even wanted her to wake, to force him to explain. And part of him was quite insistent that he needed to stop making things so hard on himself. The memory of his rejection still stung deeply, causing a sour roiling of his stomach.

But it hadn't quite been a full rejection, had it? Before she'd run, she'd held him back.

A sharp movement of her head, cocking as though she was listening to something, piqued his curiosity. Trying not to appear obvious, Nathaniel kept her fixed in the corner of his vision. Her body went still as her head turned, scanning the lawn behind her. Carefully, she took slow steps through the grass, moving as though on a hunt and trying not to startle her prey. There was nothing unusual that Nathaniel could see: just the quaint little cottages of the lower Keep village, with edges of bushes and vines, all spindly and dry and they too prepared for winter. In the distance a man hammered his roof. An elven woman walked briskly from one cottage to another, her arms loaded with a pile of clothing. She was headed for the cottage that he remembered used to belong to a seamstress.

Solona bowed her head as she slowed her step, her brows drawn as she watched her target. Finally, she came to a stop beside a crate and crouched down. Stepping away from the jewelry counter, Nathaniel leaned against one of the beams at the entrance of Wade's little enclosure. When Solona stood again, face soft with the beginning of a smile, she was cupping a fuzzy orange little ball against her chest. Nathaniel watched openly as she conducted a quick search around the crate and then peered into the yard behind her. Finally she approached the door of the nearest cottage and knocked. When a grizzled man answered she held up the ball of orange fluff, her body moving, motioning as she spoke. The man shook his head and gave her an apologetic shrug and a small bow, before closing the door. Turning, Solona's eyes landed on Nathaniel. She offered him a shrug of her own, before pausing to gently bounce the creature she held, caressing it as though attempting to comfort it. Nathaniel could only just make out the shape of the fluff: an orange tabby kitten.

Meeting his eyes again, she appeared flummoxed, searching for some clear indication of what to do next. Nathaniel laughed. He wouldn't know what to do with a kitten either. Just set it back down and leave it alone? That would depend on if it seemed healthy, well-fed, old enough to be away from its mother. If it looked abandoned and in need of care… well that would make things a little more complicated. Bowing her head to cuddle the little creature, Solona's lips began to move, seemingly murmuring soft reassurances.

The impulse seized him and he turned to walk toward her. Long strides into the courtyard, heart in his throat, he wasn't even sure what he was going to say. Damn it, Nathaniel, just leave her alone! One step faltered as he almost listened to that chiding voice. He should leave her alone. How much clearer could it get, running away from him after he'd confessed what he had to her?

But then her face turned toward him, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Those luminous eyes widened as she realized he was coming straight for her. Steeling himself, Nathaniel tested out a little smile. Her lip curled, her eyes catching the sun. He'd seen little smirks from her before, but never had she brightened up as genuinely as she seemed to be doing just then.

"Nate? Little Nate, is that you?"

A voice from the past buzzing in his ear, Solona's gaze broke and turned toward a slender figure appearing in his periphery. Nathaniel kept moving toward her, his body compelled forward. Her eyes darted between whoever else was speaking and Nathaniel, glowing a deep reddish brown in the sunlight. Maker, she's lovely. Strange, though, that someone might call him Nate. No one around here did that anymore. The voice came again, sparking some dull flame of recognition. Stopping in his track, Nathaniel took in the approaching man. Slim and lanky in the way of most elves, the man had a familiar smile and wiry grey hair.

"Samuel? Groundskeeper Samuel, is that you?"

"It is you! Maker's breath. Of course it is! I'd know that face anywhere!"

A swell of elation filled Nathaniel's chest, almost propelling him forward to embrace the man. Memories surfaced and swam painfully through his mind: long summer afternoons watching Samuel toil in the sun, Samuel clucking irritatedly at him and Thomas as they chased each other through the courtyard. Offering sympathetic looks to Nathaniel and his siblings whenever they hid in the villages from his father's occasional tirades. He'd even once whittled a little horse for Nathaniel as a nameday gift.

"Groundskeeper Samuel!"

Had Samuel been here the whole time? Questions. He had so many questions he hardly knew where to begin.

"I'm overjoyed that you stayed on! Please, do you know how my brother died?" Nathaniel closed the space between them, taking the man's hand in an affectionate shake. "And my sister? I… was in the Marches."

Solona approached too, her movement a slow tickle in his mind, providing a fleeting distraction to the new flood of emotions. His chest began to ache, swarming with bittersweet memories, and an unwelcome reminder that his family was more than just absent. At times he pretended they were just abroad, that someday they'd return to take up residence in the Keep. Death was so final, so… incomprehensible.

"Your brother died in the war," Samuel informed him gravely. Nathaniel nodded. It was as he'd expected. The sensation of Solona continued to come closer, silent and slow. Nathaniel's eyes flicked to her to see her watching Samuel intently, listening.

"But Lady Delilah…" Samuel continued, "don't you know? She isn't dead, or not that I know of." Nathaniel stared at him dumbly, unsure he'd heard correct.

"Last I heard she married a storekeep in Amaranthine. Don't know which one. Poor girl."

Blinking at the man before him, Nathaniel let the words sink in. Could it be true? His sister lived?

He couldn't help but turn toward Solona, now only steps away.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, beaming. His question was clearly unnecessary; she had heard it all. "My sister's alive!"

"That's wonderful news." She came to a stop beside him and flashed a quick smile to Samuel. Held tight against her chest, the little kitten mewled. Solona petted it absent-mindedly as her eyes flicked back and forth between the men. Nathaniel turned back to Samuel, his chest on the verge of bursting. The man had grown thinner in his advanced age. Resisting the urge to pull the man into a bear hug, Nathaniel thanked the man, promising to come visit him at his shop when Nathaniel had a chance.

"Could we ask around the shops next time we're in Amaranthine?" he asked Solona. They were supposed to head there soon anyway. There was a whole list of supplies Nathaniel needed and Solona had said something at breakfast about picking up a package from one of the merchants there.

"Of course," she answered. "We'll leave at first light."