Ebonheart was much smaller than Ilsme had anticipated. Though she had not ventured much through the mainland of Morrowind, she had possessed higher hopes about the port city. She and Vehk's small vessel had approached it nearing the evening, when there was barely more than a sliver of the sun-disc in the sky. Both of their muscles ached from the laborious duty that was rowing a small boat across the Inner Sea, even if said sea was fairly calm and even in its rhythm.

The clamor of ships harboring along with fishmongers trading their wares surprisingly brought little joy to Ilsme, for fatigue had finally caught up to her, replacing the determination she'd felt to leave Vvardenfell only hours before. Many faces, both outlander and her own kind, greeted she and Vehk as they made their way through the crowds, parting them like wind parted the branches of a tree. None noticed them here, and Ilsme knew she had made a wise decision to head for this port city over the others.

"I think it prudent to speak with an innkeeper, to inquire about any ships leaving harbor for the southern provinces." She spoke to Vehk in Dunmeris, leaning in to whisper when she saw the armor of legionnaires.

"The southern provinces? Where exactly do we make for, sera?" Came his response in their native language, using their people's title of respect so as to avoid using her real name.

"You mentioned it was liberating to feel directionless for once, and I have to admit to some degree that it is. I suppose we wait for a ship to take us wherever it will?" She deliberately left the question dangling in the air, and not a moment later, did her companion provide her with another strange look that was not quite impressed and not quite satisfied either.

"That is sound enough. I will follow your lead, sera."

Quickly she'd learned that the quiet confidence Vehk had in mortality, he'd retained. He did not speak often, and when he did, he did not speak much. His eyes often followed the movements of people, and she found that he liked to observe their habits. However, he did this with a detached fascination and amusement that came from fusing the sexual arts with philosophy, and the combative arts with the quill.

Despite his lifelong dalliance with prestige and the sacred, he did not flinch upon seeing the poor and destitute. The smell of poverty did not turn his nose, and he looked clearly in the eyes of his former subjects, the people who he'd likely known the minds of intimately when they said prayers both silent and loud in his name. As she watched him out of her peripheral, she wondered if he knew all of their names and stories, and decided that she would not ask about his godhood until the time was appropriate. A rather large part of her doubted he would tell the whole truth, as was his prerogative, though perhaps she underestimated the change that was occurring in both of them.

The inn on the docks was rather crowded, though there were not many of their kind here. There were many more Nords than Dunmer on the docks, she'd noticed, but that did not surprise her as she was aware that the northern humans had a flourishing trade in seafaring of all kind. A strong smell of alcohol, sujamma and shein, and boiled ash yams wafted through the inn, which was cozier than the cool breeze of the evening air outside. Vehk walked next to her as she approached the innkeeper, an elderly Dunmer man, whose face suddenly looked much lighter at the sight of two travelers who were not outlanders.

His face was lined with wrinkles, weathered and aged hundreds of years. Long, crimson hair peppered with gray framed his delicate, elderly features, and he smiled at either of them. She returned the gesture, and began to take the lead in speaking, for she was under the assumption that Vehk was too busy acclimating to mortality that he was not yet ready to approach other mortals.

"Good evening to you, serjo. My companion and I have traveled far from the northern coast, and we wondered if you had knowledge of any ships leaving for Valenwood?" The lie came easily along with the question, and she pondered on if there were more commonalities between she and Vehk than she previously believed.

The innkeeper smiled congenially at her as he answered her question, apparently joyous to be hosting kin rather than boisterous outlanders, "Yes, sera. Find Tanhis Othes, he's the captain of The Cliff Racer, rather funny name in these times. 'E should be docking within the week, that one is usually not gone for longer than a month. He runs shipments all throughout the southern coasts."

She and Vehk looked at each other in humor at the name Cliff Racer, both reminded of the now sainted Jiub. Though their friendship would be considered far from amicable from an outsider's perspective, she knew much progress had been made in the past two days alone. This was the charm of adventuring, after all – a journey of any kind appeared to warp the feeling of time's passage, and much could happen in so little time.

"We will also need a room. Two, if you have them, and I can pay for them through the week, and for meals." She said, taking the coin out of her little red bag, using her cloak to hide that they'd been shrunken and enlarged by Illusion magics. "Will eighty drakes suffice for the rooms and meals?"

The innkeeper's red eyes widened at the implication of a generous customer, and she was sure he was accustomed to dealing with drunkards and pirates who fancied themselves to have a charming hand at bargaining, when they were normally little more than a banekin was to Vile. Still, she appreciated that walk of life, for she'd spent many years in her youth competing with them for recognition from the upper echelons of Imperial society.

"That is more than enough.. if that be your offer, then courtesy demands that I service you each with baths. It's not often I get a well-paying customer in 'ere, after all." Came his answer, and she offered the coins, counting them by the tens so that the innkeeper did not think he was being played. "Thank you for your custom, sera. As it happens, I've got two rooms available on the third floor of this place, right next to the other. It's not the most luxurious of establishments, but I can assure you that we do our best to keep it clean."

Ilsme had no doubt of the elderly mer's credibility, and smiled at him in thanks and said, "I am sure it will serve our needs well enough, serjo."

"'Appy to hear it." His aged features lifted up into a smile, and then he spoke again, and his next words caused a small surge of panic to rush, "Before I give you the keys, I will be needing your names for the ledger."

For a split second, she and Vehk looked to each other and she knew she'd have to think quick before the kind innkeeper got any suspicions about their origins. On one hand, she knew that logically, there would likely be no danger for her or her name, as she was still a celebrated heroine, but it did not take a celebrated mathematician to add two and two and get four. Anyone who had heard the news of Vivec's trial knew that she was the one who defended Morrowind's former Warrior-Poet, and thus if she was traveling furtively with anyone, it very well may be Vivec.

Quickly, she thought of two names to give him, and she knew Vehk would catch onto the game with ease. His flair was the Lie, and he spun them with the mastery of a spider.

"I am Indora, and my companion here is Zhovehk." Their aliases were reminiscent of their given names, though only to them, while subtle enough to avoid any kind of suspicion.

While the innkeeper recorded their names in his ledger and then reached underneath the stone bar with an audible creak in his knees, Ilsme turned to Vehk and watched for any sign of emotion on his features. He was still staring at a fixed object ahead that she could not see, much like when she found him in the depths of the Red Mountain. She could not fault him for this, however, for in the past year alone they had both endured a lifetime of loss and strife, and that was not accounting for the years before. Leaving Vvardenfell would not suddenly heal those wounds, for time was the only master they could appeal to for relief.

"Here are the keys to either of your rooms." The elderly mer rose from underneath his bar top, placing two brass keys on the surface, "The rooms are up those stairs, all the way up through to the third floor. Once you get to the third floor, go all the way to the end of the foyer, and it'll be the last two rooms on your left."

"I thank you very much, serjo. You have saved us much trouble after a tiresome journey. We shall not forget this kindness." She smiled, taking the brass keys off of the bar and directing the both of them to the stairs.

Indeed, it was not a luxurious establishment, surely not what she was used to after donning the title of Nerevarine. It was an ancient stonework building, with dimly lit corridors and lining the stone walls were banners of Imperial make, courtesy of Imperial occupation, and faded sigils of long-forgotten, minor houses that once ruled this part of the city. Vehk was silent beside her as they walked up the stairs, and neither one of them complained (though they had ample reason to) of the added strain on their muscles.

Both came from humble beginnings, and to complain was in neither of their natures. On this, she found easy common ground with the former god.

When they stood facing their rooms, she turned to him and offered the key. He took it from her hands quietly, that silky skin touching her own only for a moment, and she knew then that it was not time to join hands with him again yet. Vehk was a solitary creature before he was a talented lover and speaker, rather like her, and this was one core that could not be changed by time.

"I have heard tell that it is refreshing to sleep when one has real need for it. As it were, I have found myself bereft of said need for an age. Now, there is a lacking, and when there is a lacking, there is a vessel to be filled." Came his prose.

She decided to respond with her own, "And I am certain there will be many more vessels that need to be filled." After a few beats, she added, "Good evening, Vehk. I will meet with you after waking, if you like."

The silence that followed was not awkward, for she had found that silence between the two was more natural than forced discussion. After thousands of years of playing the part of a rather seductive and gregarious Warrior-Poet, she was almost certain he wished to be who he was before, when he was only Vehk. Was such a wish capable of being granted, though? She had aptly compared the former god to a sandbank whose sand could not be moved, for more sand would replace the sand that was lost. An apt metaphor for one who weaved an intricate web of lies whose threads could be cut, but said threads would invariably be replaced by more, stronger webbing.

But Vehk, unlike Ayem, did not believe his own lies.

Gaining his trust and reviving their connection would not be simple, of this, Ilsme knew, ever since she left the council chamber the day before. She also knew, however, that the slow process of healing did not miraculously occur overnight. As one moderately studied in the Restoration magics, she knew this was true of the flesh wound too.

After Vehk closed the door to the room she'd rented for him, she retired to her own, which was sparsely decorated but had all the things she would need for the week that they'd spend here waiting. A wooden desk of Dunmeri make, aged but sturdy, sat adjacent to the full bed, which was covered in dark red linen and gray sheets, shades used often by her people, though the color reminded her most of House Dagoth. She supposed that it was fitting that Voryn would follow her throughout her journeys, and now that she'd grieved and paid respects to him properly, she found that it did not bother her.

Although fatigued from hiking the Red Mountain once and then back down, and then rowing across the Inner Sea to Ebonheart, sleep did not find her immediately. She thought often of Vehk, if he was resting peacefully, or if he would leave before her when he woke – if she would never see him again. For many reasons, this troubled her, for she believed there were many more words that needed to be said, and many more experiences that needed to be had with the mer. The voice that was not her own answered, and calmed her worries like balm on burnt flesh. No, he is a mer of oath.

Only a few minutes later, did Ilsme finally find rest after searching for so long.

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

To wake and not find the sight of her apartment in front of her was an unusual sight, though as one who had never had a permanent residence before, it only struck Ilsme as odd for no more than a few seconds, remembering where she was and why she was there with speed. She supposed that the universe had never intended for her to know permanence, or perhaps that permanence did not exist in any real capacity.

Water could be heard outside of her window, soft waves crashing into the shore outside, a familiar sound to Ilsme. She was tempted to lay here for another hour, but she was never one to laze about when there were things that needed to be seen to. Thusly, she climbed out of bed not five minutes after waking, and the first thing she did was move the gray curtains away from the thick, glass window. Normally, there were no windows in the taverns of Vvardenfell, for earthquakes were common and their danger was too imminent for glass to be a common sight.

Sailors, brigands, and merchants strolled the docks outside, crates and purses in their hands as they walked toward a destination she was sure was the sea. Watching them, she was reminded that the lives of all of them passed without knowledge that she and the one she traveled with, was here. Life continued apart from them, and this brought a wistful smile to her face as she watched a Dunmer struggle with the crate he was carrying. What was his name, did he have a family, who was his oldest friend? Her mind briefly reminded her that Vehk would know the answers to these questions.

It could not have been two hours after the first crack of dawn, perhaps a few minutes until eight o'clock. This gave her time to gaze at her map of Vvardenfell, the dog-eared parchment suddenly looking more precious than it had ever before looked. Her gaze passed over the names of locations written in charcoal in thin lettering, the print of one who'd spent years living around Imperials trying to mimic their writing. She decided then that she'd make a copy of her map of Vvardenfell while she was here, and sell it to a merchant, for she no longer had much use for the map, and it would be wasteful to not pass down her intimate knowledge of the island to another. There was a reasonable amount of coin to be found in cartography, too. Precise maps were always in high demand from mercenaries and traveling merchants.

Having made up her mind about copying the map onto another piece of thick parchment, Ilsme pulled the wooden chair to the desk and dipped the room's quill into the offered vial of ink. She decided that she would begin with the Red Mountain as the center of the map, and portray the cities and towns after connecting the road paths, which she knew from sensory memory, and hadn't drawn on her original map of Vvardenfell. She cursed when her right hand twitched and accidentally blotted the few peaks of the Red Mountain, and drew out another roll of parchment. Creating maps was no simple task, and her determination for it to be precise did not allow her to use magic to hide the error. This, she had not acquired from Nerevar, who would've gladly used magic to cover his error.

Thirty minutes after she had successfully drawn the Red Mountain on her map and had begun starting on the roads, a knock sounded on her door. It was the innkeeper, who offered her canis root tea, along with ash yam bread and a scrambled kwama egg. Gratefully, she took the offered tray and asked for a bath to be prepared for that evening. She was unsure if Vehk would want one, but she thought it best for him to wash the ash of Vvardenfell from his body, to remove it from both of their persons would be proper.

As she prepared to eat, she realized that she had not greeted Vehk as she said she would that morning. The thought occurred to her only then, and she wondered if he would even care to engage in the niceties now that he had no reason for them. It was the right thing to do, however, as they only had each other now. It reminded her of the images Nerevar had of he and Vehk traveling together in their youths, with no friend but the other, before Ayem and before Sil. Placing the hot tea back onto the silver tray, she held it in her arm and locked the door behind her, knocking on Vehk's door, which she suspected was not locked.

A moment later, did he answer, and he looked more serene this morning than he had the day before. He had already begun preparing his tea, and a vague inkling from Nerevar reminded her that he liked it served only with honey, without milk or citrus. He watched her closely, waiting for the words that were already prepared on her tongue. His eyes, now red, looked at her own and she found that it was queer to see him staying in a tavern and not hovering in the lingering high of meditation. Vehk was a person after all, though, and it only served to belittle his sovereignty to compare this self to his self in godhood.

"Would you like to take breakfast with me, Vehk?" She asked, suddenly feeling much younger than she was, like the orphaned child who asked for one of the orphanage matrons to join her.

"Yes." He moved his tall, lithe body slightly out of the way of the door frame, and allowed her passage to enter.

His curtains were moved, too, and she wondered what had occurred in his mind as he watched his former worshipers toil about. She was aware that he romanticized the lives of the laymen, writing many lines of poetry dedicated to a life of labor and simplicity. Did he envy them their simplicity? Perhaps he merely pretended to, as the performer he was, for she also knew he coveted glamour and beauty far more. There was no doubt in her mind, however, that his performances dedicated to the admiration of the poor left a flicker of inspiration in their hearts.

They sat on the cool, stony floor parallel to the other. She was clad in a thin commoner's nightgown, having changed into it the evening before laying down. He wore no shirt, as she knew he preferred, and wore dark trousers over his long, sinewy legs, having probably found the attire in the small wardrobe. Innkeepers of propriety often kept simple clothes stocked in their wardrobe for the purpose that drunkards would not have to wear their soiled attire the day afterwards.

She cast a simple spell on their meals, and Vehk watched her with interest as she did so. It was a relatively simple incantation of the Mysticism school that worked similarly to a life detection spell, only that its caster's object of interest glowed a bright lavender if it was poisoned – a requirement for any prospecting Telvanni mage.

"It has not been violated, I promise you. I am only looking for poisons, and… there seems to be none." Ilsme said. She did not suspect that the kindly, elderly Dunmer innkeeper would poison them, but she did not know the cook, and she had spent enough time with House Telvanni and in her people's politics to know that it did not take an obvious motive to poison another person.

"And here I was, concocting a rather elaborate plan to incapacitate you. I suppose I shall have to be more creative with my schemes?" It took her only a moment to understand that he was teasing, and she laughed at the phrase that was incredibly reminiscent of Vehk.

She could not decide on a clever response to the prickly, teasing words he spoke, for anything she would say may possibly offend him. Something about a spear in her back danced on the tip of her tongue, but she had not the heart to utter the words when she saw the easy, serene look on his features, and instead began to dip her yam bread in the egg. It appeared that Vehk had noticed this change in disposition as well, for his eyes narrowed minutely at the distant look in her red eyes, and his posture became more defensive, but only just enough for her keen eyes to notice.

The mer mercifully did not comment, however. Vehk had ever been an observer of people, and his performances did not include publicly shaming another for their feelings. Contrarily, he was rather accepting of the ephemerality of mortal emotion, and she knew that it was a relief for him to feel impulse and passion again. Serene apathy inspired the people to stoically accept their lot in life, but Vehk was no natural ascetic.

Instead of dipping his yam bread in the kwama egg as was common, he ate each separately, savoring the feel of common tastes on his palette. Together, they ate in silence, the light clink of silverware and the crash of waves against the piers outside being the only sound between them. Ilsme could not help but feel the sensation of a million years passing in each shared moment between the two, but this was not discomforting. It was a wholly unique sensation rather, whose existence she theorized could be traced to all the lost time between them, trying to make up for the years spent apart from the other.

Streaks of tangerine and pink danced on his beautiful, angular features, reminding her of the duality he once embodied, and still did to an extent. Long, dark lashes swept over the bottom of his eyes as he blinked, though this action did not occur often. His head, sleek and uncovered, swayed elegantly with his chewing and drinking, absent of the dangling jewels that once adorned the lobes of his pointed ears. Even in exile, he held an air of both confidence and dignity, two qualities that remained in the mer even after the traumas that millennia could bring.

He was aware of her staring a couple minutes after she finished her meal, and met her eye while bringing the teacup to his lips. She did not surrender, and instead kept her eyes fixed to he and his skin, silently admiring the image of Vehk in the morning light. It reminded her of something, but she could not identify the specifics, for this was not her expertise, and Nerevar did not always provide willingly. He too, was living and breathing the same air, and therefore she did not press that sentient part of her for answers. Vehk was apparently familiar with being stared at, though she did not stare at him as his followers or Ayem did, with lidded eyes seeking practiced whispers of deceptive validation.

"Many believe it is rude to stare, but I have never followed this myself. It is far ruder to dismiss the beauty of creation." He spoke, startling her from her thoughts only slightly. She nodded her agreement, draining the last of the tea from its cup, having now gone cold. "There is no greater sin than having eyes that do not see."

"Or worse still, a heart that cannot feel." She finished for him, and returned her gaze to his own. He was staring at her with amused interest, but it was neither belittling or condescending this time.

"Indeed, Ilsme. I too had a thirsting for wisdom at your age, and was so eager to misplace youthful innocence with it."

By now, both were finished with their morning meal, leaving nothing between them to distract from each other. There was no escape when he addressed her that time, and she was glad for it, for it was the first conversation they'd had thus far that did not involve grief or indignation, but peaceable reminiscence under the incandescence of the morning's light. Her long, white hair was illuminated under that glow, and his features were still cast in those vibrant, burning colors that reminded her of the Heartland meadows in summer. It was a moment she would not be quick to forget.

"Much of that wisdom is not my own, I have had a rather prestigious donor of wisdom, you know." She reasoned, not one to accept praise, especially from the one she spoke to.

"Two always returns to one in time, though it likes to elude. Your wisdom is your own, you must make peace with this."

It struck her as ironic that he spoke of duality as though its insignificance was inarguable, and she supposed it was in the bigger picture they so enjoyed searching for. Only, Vehk had lost the need to search for it long ago, when he was made aware of the 'waking dream'. She still could not see beyond the dualities, though in this she found no shame in admitting. There was likely a good reason that this frame of mind remained – it was still necessary somehow, and she trusted this.

Their conversation was over, if the pensive look on his face was any indication. She bathed in the peaceful silence for another few minutes while he seemingly meditated, and knew that it was privacy he needed now. Forgoing asking, she took his borrowed robe from the dresser and collected hers from her room, shrinking them and stashing them both in her red bag before changing her gown to common clothes. The innkeeper was speaking with what she assumed was another guest, and so she nodded at him on her way out of the tavern.

Ash clung to the fabric of the enchanted robes, blocking the silvery sheen of its make. It took Ilsme a few minutes of searching before she finally found a clean source of flowing water, and although it was salty, it would smell far better than fire and ash. Gently, she worked at the robes with her hands, long fingers kneading the fabric wading below the water. It took only minutes to wash the ash out, making way for the smell of salt instead, though smoke would always linger – but she was used to its smell by now, so used to it in fact that she had to be outside of Vvardenfell to notice. The luster of the robes would be visible again after being hung up to dry for a day, and she smiled at the small work she was silently enjoying, as she made her way back to the tavern to hang them up in her room.

Doing small work with her hands reminded Ilsme that she was mortal, it took her thoughts out of what will be and forced her to experience what is. Ash still covered her skin, but even this was forgotten as she labored a job she'd done several times before, in what seemed like an entirely different life. When she was sure that her telekinetic magic would suffice to dry the clothes, she handed her spear and began leaving her room again. Once in the stony halls, she thought on Vehk and wondered if he'd like to join her in the marketplace. She waved this thought away, for once forgoing the aching need to take care of her own, because Vehk was not hers, and she knew that he did not need her, and was only here out of choice. It was easy to forget that he was a sage of antiquity, when she had so many memories contradicting this fact. And for once, Ilsme was permitted to be in solitude, a rare treat, for Vehk was not one to hover.

Her spear supported her steps as she glided through the city, searching for a merchant she could speak to about selling her copied map of Vvardenfell. Though it would likely be a couple days before it was entirely finished, she was interested in using the coin from the map to pay for their passage to Valenwood. Inter-provincial naval passages were not known for being inexpensive for passengers.

Ilsme did not trust the Argonian shopkeeper to give her a fair price for her map, for she would not give herself a fair price if she was in his body. Though having spent many years in Cyrodiil in closeness to beastmen, there was much resentment between Dunmer and beastmen, for good reason. She wondered why the Argonian would remain in Morrowind, for every Argonian in Morrowind was either a slave, former slave, or the descendant of one, with very few exceptions.

When Ilsme found a Dunmer merchant to consult, the price offered for a detailed map of Vvardenfell caused her eyebrows to rise. A few hundred drakes depending on the precision of detail was what Ilsme had to look forward to, and knew that this would be enough to guarantee passage on The Cliff Racer. It was not as though she could not afford it now, though again she considered it a waste to not pass her intricate map down to someone else.

Her trip to the city's blacksmith was also enlightening, as she looked at the weapons with a knowledgeable eye, keeping Vehk in mind as she searched for a spear with the blacksmith's permission. She acknowledged that Vehk would likely see her purchasing him a weapon as a competitive action, but it was for more practical purposes, for she knew he had little in the way of wealth beyond virtue of spirit now.

"There is one other that is not on display, sera." The blacksmith said to her suddenly, pausing his work to focus on her, "I noticed that you were watching the spears. If you have the coin, I'd offer it to you."

"What is its make? May I see?" She asked politely.

"Ebony, the finest you could ever find in all of Morrowind, crafted not by me but by my late master many years ago." He disappeared into his stonework aparment, and a few moments later, emerged with a spear, the likes of which she had not seen since spying the Spear of Bitter Mercy.

Ilsme wasted no time in admiring the craftsmanship, setting her own spear down to gently trace the Daedric runes in it, words written in her native language – one such being Wrath and another Nourish. The body was incredibly long and sleek, a shade so dark that it did not gleam except under the direct sunlight. The tip, too, was lean and fearsome, and featured three small, jutting igneous rocks sharpened to a point along with the sharpened ebony. For a moment, she could not help but stare in awe at the skill of its creator.

Although she could not read his brilliantly contradictory mind, she was sure Vehk would be pleased to have an arm once again, and further to have one in this like. Ebony was the most prestigious material her people used in metallurgy, and to present him with this would be a powerful symbol of forgiveness. When the blacksmith told her how much it was worth, she did not attempt to barter with him, for indeed the weapon's make was worth a quarter of her acquired wealth.

"This is a very practical replacement of your own spear, or it is a very lofty gift for a very lofty mer." The Dunmer said, and she smiled noncommittally at him and softly shook her head, snowy strands moving in the light sea breeze.

"Rather, a peace offering for a very old friend who I have quarreled with for far too long." Came her reply, taking the proffered spear in her free hand.

Once she'd thanked the blacksmith for his time and adjusted the spear into a safe position in her arms, she lackadaisically made her way back to the tavern that she and Vehk were staying at. The ebony spear received many envious looks from the populace, who had likely never seen something like it. Though not one for pride, she knew Vehk had a veritable weakness for it, and was willing to indulge him with this weapon.

The door to his inn's room was unlocked, much to her surprise, though she knocked out of propriety's sake. The mer answered not a moment later, a blank look playing on his features until he saw the proffered spear. Red eyes narrowed firstly, searching between her and the offering for a missing link that was not made apparent to him. It occurred to her that he was waiting for her to speak first, and she did not waver in her speech, as she had prepared for some inkling of hostility from him, arising out of lingering rivalry.

"I believe I mentioned that you were without arms, and decided to rectify that today. It is a fine weapon, and you may name it yourself." She said, and although he took it without complaint, he still watched her expectantly, and for a moment, she was left to wonder why, until his voice reminded her of something, "I did not do this with the expectation of something in return. Think of it, if you will, as the first gift given between us that is not out of obligation."

The cool, expectant look slowly melted off of his features and was replaced by a pleasing look, which she could not identify if it was for her or the weapon, or perhaps both. He handled the spear with mastery, swiveling it and thrusting it forward with a swiftness she expected from him. Still, it did not diminish her awe at the skill of its owner, and she watched with amusement as he familiarized himself with it. After a minute of his performance, he lifted his head and gazed at her with something akin to amicability.

"This is a gift of quality, Ilsme, and an act of generosity I will not soon forget."

When she noticed the gratitude swimming in the depths of his eyes, for once honest and pointedly not deceiving, she knew that forgiveness was earned on both sides.