The Taleweaver

Braka, part three

"I hate being locked up with my mother!"

"She nearly lost you, child," Nakora responded.

"Don't call me a child!"

"I didn't mean to..." Gods! The brat is two years, three, older than I was when father died. "offend you," Nakora lied when she sensed Chaijrild noticing the silence.

"You weren't there. Now Arthur won't even talk with me."

Nakora frowned. She had been there, but never as a captive. Still, this was her first opportunity to talk with Chaijrild since the rescue. "I understand. It must have been a harrowing experience."

"Harrowing?"

"Yes, the horror of it."

"Horror? He was satisfied enough when we slept."

Oh? Oh! The conversation had definitely taken an unexpected turn. "No, I meant... ah. Does he still have his stamina?" she continued to turn the conversation to a direction she was supposed to know better than weapons, tactics and logistics.

"Oh yes! For a man his age he..."

Nakora smiled despite discomfort creeping all over her. Taking part of the gossip was something she by now had agreed upon, and thinly disguised among unspoken rules lay her own evaluation of Harbend's nighttime skills. Not that she had anything to complain about, but talking about it, well.

Another overly graphic description reached her through her thoughts, and smiling, this time for real, she threw caution aside. "You really mean that? Now, I have heard of this herb..."