"Drat!" Squire Keladry cursed as a flame from her portable forge sprang up and licked her finger for a second time. "Drat! Drat! Drat!" She placed her finger in her mouth to cool the new blister. Autumn was arriving, and the wind of nothern Tortall whipped across the squires' faces as it swooped upon them from the nearby mountains. It was a training mission really, but no one had done much but stir old rice in a rusty skillet and repair nails in a the portable forge.

"Who's ingenius idea was this anyway?" It was Nealan of Queenscove, the chosen chef of the chilly Sunsday's night. "I mean, is there even some relatively sense-possessing reason we're here?"

"Nealan," The appointed training master of Tortall had returned from his evening bath in the creek. "I can see you are not aware of the importance of this training." His eyes narrowed as brows of ash wrinkled in disgust. "Perhaps you should take your complaints to the king himself. It is, after all, his will that brings us here to the mountain bases."

Neal shook his head and began to stir their meager supper once again. "No problems here, oh mighty master of training." His comment brought scowls from his fellow squires, as Lord Wlydon retreated to the only real tent of their encampment. The rest of their party was expected to create their own shelters from the surrounding resources. If you could even call them resources. The trees and underbrush did little more than provide ancient plants with a place to become dryrot. At the time, the "shelters" were simply a log propped against a more or less sturdy tree, with a cloak or two drapped across the juncture.

"Well, our little band shall not be nail-less for the time being." Joked Kel as she set down her bucket of newly-crafted nails. "I can't believe I've stooped this low. I'm a smith!" She began to tend her numerous burns.

Neal looked toward the lady squire. "Oh Gods, Kel! Are you forging the nails or your fingers?" He rose from the feeble cooking fire and began to strip banages from an old cloak. "Let me see them, Kel."

Keladry felt her pulse quicken. "No, you know I won't settle for magical-" But Neal cut her short.

"Ah-ah-ah." He teased, dressing her minor wounds. "Hasn't your mother ever taught you to cooperate with healers?" He took a jar from a leather satchel and began to rub a vile-smelling sort of balm on her hands. She would've rather died than admit it, but she took pleasure from his gentle touch.

"Forgive me, kind sir," Kel laughed, playing along, "but manners are easily forgotton in the depths of the barren wilderness."

Just as Neal sealed the last dressing with healing magic, Lord Wlydon ventured from his lodgings once again. "Squires!" He barked, surveying the haggard group of youths. "Night will soon be upon us. See Squire Nealan for you rations and then get those hopeless rears in gear. Your shelters must be completed before dark or you'll find yourself enjoying a good night's rest under the stars. This, of course, would not be horrible, but I fear the clouds above are preparing for a storm." He feigned a mock sort of concern. "Now get to it!" He turned sharply on one heel before tying the canvas flap of the tent.

The small regiment let out a groan and slowly set to work. After downing the weak helpings of rice, the owners of the shelters returned to the seemingly hopeless work. Kel especially was having trouble gettin her small pile of branches to become anything more than another heap of twigs upon the forest floor.

"How come you get the rock?" She questioned of Neal who had been making his small cabin against the face of a towering stone.

"Dunno." He answered, grasping a few yards of vine between his perfect teeth. "I'm not sure position is going to matter anyway. None of us seem to be getting this." He spat the vines onto the rickety platform of sticks. "Sheesh, you'd think the Stump could think of something a bit more productive."

Kel laughed and returned to her task. She watched as Neal wove his twigs to fit the cliff. She stared as a strand of soft hair blew across his shinning eyes. Why did she feel like this? And why was Neal so special? She couldn't seem to shed the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Dark soon fell, and the squires fell silently into their makeshift shelters, tired to the bone from the day's tasks. Not long after the last of them had fallen into unsettling sleeps, it began to rain, no...pour was more the word for it. Drowning towns and forest in sheets of icy liquid. The wet had soon found its way into Kel's camp drenching the shivering girl in cold. Thunder cracked too close for her comfort. The branches of her shelter began to blow apart, scattering her building materials across the area. The wind howled, a dash of lightning was sprinkled across the midnight sky and Kel found no choice but to run. Neal's lean-to was just up ahead.

The feeble light of the sliver of moon guided her to Neal.

"Kel!" He exclaimed. He had obviously not been asleep. "I'm so glad to- ...what are you doing here?"

My shelter! It's been completely blown away! It's this dratted storm. I ran, and when I saw your stone I thought that maybe you wouldn't mind if---" He stopped, gazing into the eyes of the one she adored. Neal gripped her shoulder. "It's alright, Keladry. You're safe now."

*What am I saying?* Thought Neal to himself. Keladry? Ohh...it was such a beautiful name. Keladry... Safe? Of couse she was safe. She would always be safe with him.

"It's a shame your shelter fell." He added. Was it really a shame? No. It was not.

"No, it's not all a shame." Kel began, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm with you now..."

Words were no longer needed. He leaned forward, locking his eyes on hers, his face slowly advancing upon the petal-soft lips of his love...
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Aghh! My romance muse again! Please no flames from you Kel/Cleon fans, I hope you enjoy this anyway. Chapter 2 coming soon! Please review.