Elocution Lessons soon...

His elation turns to desolation as he sees the mat empty.

He doesn’t have long to wait, or wonder, Blaze’s almost muted ‘caw’ as he swoops through the roof’s missing skylight, landing gracefully on the arch overhead, gives away the presence of his mistress, and Kiril sees a shadow, that can only be Spring, enter the conservatory.

Spring steps silently through the quiet monastery, stretching and shaking her quivering muscles from their morning run. This morning she’d awoke alone. Her mind and body once again alive and being tugged in so many directions.

At first she felt a profound sadness at finding herself alone. Only until her mind conjured up a vision of Kiril, his muscles straining, his blades flashing – she shivered, “Yes, I will have to be disciplined as he is. No laziness for me.” At that thought, she pulled off her nightshirt, pulled on her day shirt, and found her path around the building, her elation, that she can’t quite explain, bursts forth and she can’t stop herself from exploding into a full run, her bare feet gripping the sand and avoiding the sharp stones, the guards shaking their heads as she lops passed.

Four circuits later, breathing hard, Spring makes her way to the wash area, stripping, and dipping up a bowl of cool water, and using a sliver of lye soap from a large block sitting on a shelf, she wipes the sour smell from her skin. “This too!” she grimaces as she sniffs her shirt, before plunging the white–now–greyish shirt into the bowl of water, scrubbing until it’s as clean as its ever going to get. “I wonder if there is a seamstress in the crowd? – I could really use a new blouse.”

Dumping the filthy water, washing the bowl and rinsing the cloth replacing it on the round rod to dry, Spring pulls the wet, dripping blouse on and heads back to her things. “I’ll change into the night one while this dries.” She nods to Penladan as he makes his way out for his morning routine and shushes Blaze as he swoops down the hall and out.

She looks up as she enters the conservatory, the dawn light weakly chasing the darkness away, and sees Kiril, his rugged form backlit by what little light there is. Her heart jumps and that funny feeling clenches her stomach. She wants to run and throw herself into his arms. She starts to, then hesitates, her emotions cutting off her thoughts before they form into complete sentences.

She continues walking to him, unconsciously swaying her hips, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She slows to a near stop when she is a few feet away, uncertainty, nervousness both serving to worry that maybe she was reading too much into his actions...

She looks at him, her eyes meeting his and dropping away as an unaccountable fear plummets into her stomach. Her eyes blur and she blinks fast before they can drip. Her body tenses and then soars as he steps forward, his arm wrapping around her much smaller frame, his lips brushing her temple. “De veleth e-guil nîn.” [You are the love of my life.]

“Anton vela then and gin, [I give you my love],” she murmurs, once again hearing his low-rumble as he chuckles, squeezing her tighter.

“Elocution lessons, soon ci velethrilen, [my love].”

o0o