Legends of Belariath

Caoimhe and Khristoph Maelese

The Blouse

Night is on the horizon and the soft cooing of the nightingales is on the breeze. Intent on running some errands in the nearby town of Nanthalion, our good Caoimhe, the pony-centaur healer, and Khristoph Maelese, faithful clerk and friend to both Caoimhe and the Healer's Guild, make their way down the road that leads to and through town from the West. The human cleric seems intent on sticking close to Caoimhe's side, his dark eyes gentle as he regards her.

Sitting on a bench near the fountain at the center of town, a gold and black Tom sits watching the streets. His clothes eyes are big and sad, though they brighten considerably as they spot the beautiful, milky-skinned centaurette. He offers Caoimhe his warmest smile as they pass, his eyes not leaving her porcelain features. There is a light of recognition in her eyes that warms his heart and she nods with a friendly smile. She recognizes him, and who could not, from the weapons store, having met him the day she'd purchased her mithril chain mail armor. He'd been more than complimentary of her appearance then and his effusive praise still brought a slight blush to her cheeks. The man at her side accords him a sharp nod.

Noting the general direction in which their path leads them, MacKnight, for that is the tiger-striped catboy's name, speaks up, nodding to Khristoph in return, "I believe the General Store is closed.... Thought, if you want, I can help with clothes or weapons and armor."

Khristoph Maelese frowns slightly. It seemed the planet would crumble in on itself before he got more parchment. Caoimhe nods to MacKnight, "Thank you... I'm not sure... " She glances to Khristoph, not knowing his shopping list fully. He snaps his fingers, and then opens the satchel that hangs from his shoulder. He takes out his tome and flips through it a moment...

The soft-spoken MacKnight nods to Caoimhe, "No problem, let me know if you require anything from either the weapon's shop or the Naked Bird." Caoimhe's return smile is automatic and warm as she nods, "Yes, indeed. Thank you..." She trails off as Khristoph looks upon the page with the scrawling of his needs, and shakes his head. "No, the weapons and armor were a touch out of my range, and besides, my buckler and hammer are just fine. Clothing? Well, Tsuneko was going to make me that robe cut for combat, with the Cross embroidery... but I haven't seen him since I mentioned it, and that must've been four days ago."

"How long did he say it would take?" The store clerk asks. Thinking for a moment, Khristoph responds, "Overnight, from what I understood. Said he had no other work at said time, business was slow. Hopefully his second form of employment was more called upon." MacKnight, ever helpful, offers to check the shop to see if it has been finished or to place an order if it has not. He asks if the measurements have yet to be taken.

Khristoph shakes his head; only his green cap keeping his errant bangs at bay. "No, the measurements will still need to be taken. And, of course, it is to be hemmed so I don't trip on it." He gestures to himself, his current attire still splotched in mud from his last fall. "I can be a bit of a klutz, so if I can avoid wearing clothes that cause me to fall all over myself, I do."

With a nod and a few words of agreement, MacKnight stands to precede them to the Naked Bird, the dust of road dry even in the cool of the evening, the sun completely set now and only a few scattered torches lighting their way. Khristoph pauses, looking to Caoimhe, "Shall we?" The centaur, younger than her behavior would indicate, seems a bit distant and distracted, her eyes unfocused. "That will be fine." The attentive man looks to her a bit more closely, his tone gentle and concerned, "Is... something troubling you? I can do this at a later time, if you wish." MacKnight too seems concerned as he turns back to face them, his inquiry nearly on top of Khristoph's and worded much the same, "Is something troubling you, Miss Caoimhe?"

Their sudden attention brings a warm blush to Caoimhe's soft cheeks and she shakes her head, her gaze lowering. "No... it's alright." With a nod, MacKnight turns to unlock the door of the Naked Bird. "Very well, Miss Caoimhe." Caoimhe turns to Khristoph as he pats his hand gently on her equine side. "You know you can always tell me anything... and I know the same is true likewise." His cheeks redden slightly, and he approaches the door of the shop.

Caoimhe stays back to let them precede her into the shop, but MacKnight just looks to her as he holds the door open and so she trots up the steps and through the door, moving quickly out of the way.

Moving across the room toward the counter, MacKnight inquires after Caoimhe's armor. She blushes softly and smiles, remembering the day she purchased it and the attention of the two clerks, MacKnight included, who sold it to her. "I've little use for it, thankfully, but it has served me well."

"That is good to hear." He picks up a tape measure and moves toward Khristoph, his steps silent on the smooth flooring of the shop. Khristoph is already standing as straight as he can, it comes naturally to him. Probably from being struck so often for slouching by both his father and the Cardinals in the Clergy hall. As MacKnight begins to take the measurements, it's obvious that his attention is elsewhere as she continues to converse with the quiet centauress. "How have you been, Miss Caoimhe?"

Caoimhe smiles, "Quite busy.. getting the Healer's Guild organized and staffed.."

"A healer's guild?" He looks up at Caoimhe, then bends to write down a few measurements before turning to take the remainder. Khristoph moves with the measurements, helping where he can.

"Yes, I am a healer." Khristoph speaks up, "I'll be assisting with the book work, and anything they need in that sense." He beams with pride, knowing he will do his best for the Guild. Caoimhe's eyes seem to lighten as she watches, sensing true merit in this man.

"I am not a healer in particular, but I am a druid, perhaps when we both have time, you can explain more of this." Caoimhe perks up slightly with a smile when she hears MacKnight's words, "Yes... though not tonight. I am a Druidess... or was.. "

Khristoph's eyes flash with curiosity. There it was again, that reference. What was she now? The third time he had heard her speak of her shift, of drawing her power from another source. He quickly tucks away his outward appearances of wonder as he is measured.

"Ah, that's right, didn't Alranna help you out for a bit?" MacKnight doesn't wait for Caoimhe to respond as he finishes up the measurements, asking Khristoph, "What is your name, Sir?" Holding out an extended hand, the friendly cleric states, "I'm

Khristoph. Khristoph Maelese. And you?"

Caoimhe remains silent a moment longer as MacKnight writes the name on the parchment with the list of numbers before returning the introduction with an outstretched paw, "I am MacKnight." Her head tilts a bit as she ponders how the cat might know Alranna and she responds quietly, "Yes, for a short while."

The two shake hands, nodding. They don't bother with the macho hand-squeezing which so many seem to indulge, their grips firm, but not tight. Khristoph smiles, "Well met."

"Well it was nice to meet you, and good to see you again, Miss Caoimhe. I will get these measurements to 'Neko as soon as possible, or I will work on them myself, how much would you like off the bottom?" MacKnight and Khristoph discuss the proper method to determine length as Caoimhe wanders off to browse some of the more feminine ready-made attire. She luxuriates in the various textures, touching each piece carefully, knowing they must be have come from all over the world of Belariath and wondering what sort of plant or creature they were created from.

The conversation between the two men floats across the room to Caoimhe, though she's paying little attention. "What color would you prefer the material to be?" Khristoph spins the hammer expertly on his right hand, in a beautiful and deadly legerdemain, and then returns it to its waiting loop. "Gray. Steel gray."

MacKnight nods, making a quick note on the parchment, "Alright." He turns his attention to Caoimhe once more, "Would you like anything?" At his question, Khristoph turns as well, his look eager. He hopes this trip wasn't just for him. "Yes, what would you like?" His smile is pleasant.

The shy girl that Caoimhe still remains beneath the wise and knowledgeable shell of the Guild Mistress shakes her head, "Oh... no.. I'm fine, thank you." The clerk simply nods, "As you wish." Khristoph sounds slightly disappointed, "Very well." She blushes a little then, dropping the sleeve of the blouse she's been handling. "I was just browsing."

Khristoph is prepared to let the matter drop. He clasps his hands together. "So, what else did you wish to do this night? You know, if you find anything that strikes your fancy, my treat." His eyes dance on whatever light the room provides. Caoimhe turns to regard him with that statement and their eyes meet as the unassuming clerk steps back, becoming background for a moment. "Oh.. no.. I couldn't." Her blush deepens. "You haven't even begun to earn your wages yet."

Khristoph shakes his head. "I've more than enough to afford whatever you would wish." His smile broadens. "That becomes you." He nods to the blouse she was looking at.

Caoimhe looks at the blouse again and sighs, "It's lovely.. but I don't think it would fit." The cut of the blouse is one that would be somewhat revealing on a fuller figure like hers, hugging the breasts and soft swell of her belly. Although Caoimhe is not ashamed of her plump form, she knows what does and doesn't fit her frame.

The tailor speaks up quickly, not wanting to lose a sale, certainly, but also wanting to flatter the lovely centauress who's caught his eye. "I could adjust it or make one for you, Miss Caoimhe."

Khristoph nods eagerly, happy to get just a small something. It could never possibly measure up to the mountain of generosity she had bestowed upon him.

Caoimhe bites her lower lip and looks at the blouse again. It's a soft, pale blue.. almost icy... and made of spun silk.

"...I believe I still have your measurements at the weapons hop, I just need to know what color you would like." His look is almost smug, as if he knows she won't back down now.

"Oh.. I like this color..." There's a bit of a pause before she continues, and the tailor jumps in with a smile, "Then I shall make it just like that Miss Caoimhe."

Khristoph nods. "So do I." He quickly silences himself, but not before he gets the words out. It was not his place to like the color, or dislike it. The choice was hers and hers alone... still... it would look beautiful wrapped around her.

"... it's just.. "

"It's just?"

Caoimhe continues to blush a deep rose, her eyes looking anywhere but up at the two men admiring her. "I'm not sure that cut would be flattering on my form."

MacKnight is quick to respond while Khristoph keeps his thoughts. "I bet you'll make the blouse look good." He smiles, "Just as you made the armor look good."

The young cleric is glad he is able to stifle his next thought... that she would look positively gorgeous in anything. His eyes say it, if one looks deep enough... and can read such things.

Caoimhe chews her lip, remembering the modeling request... She glances up at Khristoph and her breath catches in her throat. The gentle healer nearly whispers the words, "I'll take it."

Neither of them hear the tailor's smiling response. Khristoph's mouth lowers to a gentle smile, eyes a shine. "Excellent," he says, not taking his eyes off her. "How much, Sir MacKnight?"

The payment is made and the terms settled. Khristoph will return the following day to retrieve the garments. He turns back to Caoimhe, giving a beaming smile. "Well then, I believe it's time to go home, is it not? Or... is there anything more you wish?"

The blushing centauress shakes her head, her voice soft and a bit subdued, perhaps. "No... home is good."

Khristoph felt himself quicken with pulse to hear her words spoken like that. He watches as she exchanges farewells with the tailor, then turn to step out of the shop. He follows behind, giving a sharp nod to MacKnight on his exit. He grips his hands behind his back, matching her pace, his eyes turned to the starry sky.

The overhanging trees nearly block the moonlight from creeping down to the earth. Soft shadows and misty alcoves mark the way as Caoimhe trots slowly up the lane. She's been nearly silent the whole way, though she glances at Khristoph now and then. Her mind is occupied with her own thoughts, but she's comfortable in the silence, feeling no need to either share the thoughts nor fill the emptiness with idle chitchat.

Khristoph feels indescribable. Today certainly had its ups and downs. The visit to the magically aged man at Unigo was definitely a down, and caused much grief. But the trip to the Naked Bird clothing shop seemed to help alleviate those feelings of sadness.

Khristoph had properly ordered the robe he was sure would keep him warm if he needed to combat unknown forces in the chill night air... and he had gotten Caoimhe something special as well, something that she was sure to be absolutely beautiful in... Her reaction to his glance made his heart jump, and had made the purchase all the more special.

Being the first to arrive at the door, he opens it and holds it open for Caoimhe. She trots into the cottage, pausing to discard her heavy woolen cloak. Her soft sigh is more from exhaustion at this point than grief.

Khristoph follows in, shutting the door. He shivers just slightly, glad to be able to pick up his new robe tomorrow. The cold didn't affect him too roughly, but to have something just to fight back the breeze would be perfect. That, and bedecked with embroidery of his sect's symbol, it would stand as a testament of his faith.

Khristoph looks to Caoimhe. "I believe it's time to part company." He yawns slightly, not to prove his point, but because it crept in.

Caoimhe looks up, her eyes meeting his almost too slowly. Her voice holds that same softness that it did in the shop, her words drawn out. "I suppose... if we must." She smiles gradually. "Thank you... for everything today."

The gentle cleric does his best to hold his composure, he feels like a block of butter left out in the hot sun. That tone... did something to him. "Not a problem. I do hope it wasn't too trying on you. Again, if you need me for anything... just say the word. I'm always here for you, m'lady." His chocolate eyes gleam with their own inner light.

Caoimhe demurs, ducking her head with a quiet smile. She's all too receptive of his reactions to her. It's awkward for her in a deliciously tempting kind of way. She seems to examine her hands a moment before looking up again. "I think it will most likely be cold tonight... I have extra blankets if you need them... " It's obvious, even to the dense, that she is attempting to forestall the interaction.

Khristoph tilts his head to one side, looking her over just at the skip of a second. "An extra blanket would be wonderful."

The sweet healer nods and her smile widens. She turns and walks down the hall, her tail bouncing behind her with each step. "It's down here... " Caoimhe pauses, glancing over her shoulder with smoldering eyes, "Are you coming?"

Khristoph nods slowly, his feet finding the strength to move... "Y-yes, I am." She continues down the hall and into her room.

As he enters, he sees her at the opposite side of the room, reaching above her head for a blanket on the top shelf of her armoire. The room is comfortable but rather sparse. Her 'bed' is really a pile of blankets and pillows.

Khristoph nods, looking down at the 'bed' for the first time. He's forbid himself to enter this place, especially because she's never asked him to spruce it up. Not that it needs it. It looks just fine. "Hey, that looks comfy," he says, gesturing to the bed. His tone is casual, without a hint of mischievousness.

Caoimhe glances over her shoulder, just as her tugging brings down the blankets on top of her head. Set off balance, she falls on her rump and lets out a little squeal, then scrambles to her hooves again with a blush. "It's more comfortable for me, yes."

Khristoph spins on his heel, attempting to unbury her a bit from the blankets. "Goodness! You've got to place those in a less precarious spot." He helps gather them up for her. "I would imagine so, yes. Not that I'm complaining about my bed, it's just fine."

Caoimhe looks up at Khristoph, enjoying the impromptu closeness, though her tone is still a bit shy. "Would you like to try it?" He looks at it, then shrugs. "Sure, why not?" He rises stepping toward the 'bed', plopping down softly on it, then lying back. "Hey, this is cozy..." ...it also smelled of her, which began to make his heart race. He leans up slightly, into a sitting position.

Caoimhe lowers her gaze again quickly, realizing the sound of her offer. She stares directly at his tuniced chest, her cheeks ablaze, though she does smile and nod a bit, keeping her eyes as neutral as possible. "It sort of forms to whatever position I decide to take... I tend to toss in my sleep when I have ni... dreams. When I'm dreaming."

The human's ears are extremely sharp, as every nerve is on edge. Adrenaline surges through his smallish, well-wrought frame. He heard the discrepancy before dreams... but does not remark. "I don't roll much when I rest."

Caoimhe continues to blush as she steps forward, blanket in hand. "You are lucky." Her smile is soft and casual, belying the tumultuous gaze. She watches him for a moment as he lays back once again against the pile of pillows. His eyes slowly close. The centauress smiles softly. To see a person in repose, to know they sleep without fear, perfectly at peace in your presence, is a tender and heart-warming thing.

She spreads the blanket over him before stepping away again to remove her halter, setting it aside. She has no problem curling up beside him in the overlarge bed, pulling her own blankets up and over her nude form to ward off the chill before drifting into sleep herself.

Deep in the night, the nightmares come once again, haunting the sleeping seductress even know. She lashes out, her hoof making contact with her bedmate's shin. Awakened by the sharp jab, Khristoph starts, sitting up quickly and reaching for his hammer only to find that it isn't there.

His senses clearing, the battle-trained cleric blinks, turning toward the whimpering, gently thrashing centaur in the bed beside him, indeed, pressed close to him. Worried by her obvious distress, he reaches out, laying his hand upon her side. The action causes her to still immediately, slipping quietly back into the peaceful slumber that was interrupted by the violent dreaming.

As he replays the previous evening's events over in his sleep-addled mind, he recalls their conversation and the events preceding his slip into slumber. Carefully, as not to disturb the beauty by his side, Khristoph slides out from beneath the blankets, pulling one with him to wrap around his shoulders as he makes for his room.

Once there, he retrieves his journal from his satchel, it's usual place of rest. Sitting himself at the desk, he gives a wide yawn before wetting his quill and setting to work conveying his thoughts to page. As he writes, a soft smile spreads across his features.

As the morning sun streams through the windows of the cozy cottage, Caoimhe stirs her tea with a small, silver spoon. A curl of steam rises to dance in the air before dissipating. She is 'seated' at the table, her equine legs tucked beneath the broad barrel of her body. She's wearing a tattered old sweater, warm and fuzzy, if a bit worn.

Caoimhe sighs softly, seeming entranced in the swirling pattern of her tea leaves. She leans on the table, her arm tucked beneath the generous swell of her breasts, cozy in the comforting wool of her sweater.

Khristoph's eyes snap open and he catches his breath. He had only closed them for a second... or was it? Fearfully, he looks down at the journal entry... unfinished. He slams the book shut, the sound making him gasp. Sliding the book back into his pack and strapping it on, he heads into the hall, turning the corner, going for Caoimhe's room.

At the door, he exhales deeply, debating walking in... knocking... he can't see the dining room from the hall and so, does not notice that she has already arisen. He nudges the door open slightly. Not seeing her inside, he does, however, see his hammer lying on the floor near the 'bed'. He stoops down, reaching into the room just enough to remove it from her sanctuary, and return it to his belt loop.

Khristoph turns around, walking towards the kitchen. He pauses dead in his tracks as he sees Caoimhe, looking at her teacup. He lightly clears his throat, his cheeks reddened with shame. "Lady Caoimhe," he pauses, looking up, forlorn. "Please forgive my actions... Please know I did not run away. I... went to write something down, and... fell asleep." His words sound genuine, unpracticed. They are a bit shaky, but far from being melodramatic.

Caoimhe looks up as she hears him speak her name. Her eyes are red rimmed and shadowed, but she smiles hesitantly. As he speaks, her smile widens and shakes her head dismissively. "Stop, please. I understand."

Khristoph smiles in return, the yoke lifted from his shoulders. He sighs softly. "Okay," he nods. "I trust you... slept well?" His pause seems to last longer than it does, time-wise, almost like an undertone. His leg is no longer damaged nor sore, but he still feels for her... seeing her in such torment, thrashing about...

The unimposing centaur stiffens slightly and lowers her gaze, taking a sip of her tea before speaking. "Not as well as I would have liked... so, I slept in." Her following smile is bright, but does little to mask the dark edge to her eyes.

Khristoph nods. "Understood." He swallows hard. "So..." He tries to think of something to say. The air still is lightly scented with jasmine, and he takes a slow breath. "What's that you have there, in the cup?"

Caoimhe^ smiles softly, "It is tea. Our new Apothecaress sent it home with me... she blends her own." The admiration is apparent in her town, this woman she speaks of someone obviously accorded both respect and affection.

The cleric crosses the floor, bringing him, one step at a time, closer to her. He slides his chair under him with just his legs in a deft action, taking a seat near... but not too near her. The move is doubly impressive, considering how he's been quite clumsy as of late.

Caoimhe, ever alert to subtleties notices the smoothness of his actions. She tilts her head slightly without comment and asks instead, "Would you like to taste it?"

Khristoph nods eagerly. "Absolutely. May I?" He reaches a hand slightly towards the cup. She smiles and places the cup in his hand, pausing to make sure he has a good grip before she pulls her hand away. Her look is gentle and a little hesitant.

The gentle young man nods, knowing his hands are more than capable of such a feat. If anything, he needs to watch out for those feet... he enjoys her hand on his, but does his best to keep his blush from returning. After she pulls away, he sips from the cup. With a light smacking of his lips, he savors the flavor. "Jasmine," he muses quietly, and takes another tentative sip at the cup.

The once-druidess smiles brighter and nods at his recognition of the subtle flavor that laces the light taste of the green tea. It's been brewed properly, without even a touch of the bitter tannins that come with over-brewing. He takes yet another sip, closing his eyes as he does this time... very slowly. He then realizes that if he keeps this up, he'll have drank the entire thing. "My apologies." He offers the cup back to her lightly. "It's very good."

Caoimhe smiles, "You're welcome to a cup if you like. I am glad you like it. It's my favorite, actually... I can't find it anywhere else."

Khristoph shakes his head. "Much appreciated, Caoimhe, but I believe that will be enough for me." She accepts the cup and he looks down, his fingers lightly rapping against the table, drumming rhythmically... subconsciously... "Thank you for the blanket last night. It was indeed cold. I wrapped myself in it as I wrote last eve."

Her following smile is soft, her eyes shifting a bit as she sips. She sets the cup down again and licks her lips. Her actions seem drawn out... measured in longer moments than her actions should take. "You're welcome. Do you mind if I ask... " She looks up, her black hair half curtaining her face. It seems she's worn it completely down today, though there's still a slight crimp where the usual two front braids were before. "What do you write?"

Khristoph blinks, the question unexpected. "Primarily my day. It's easier to sort back through it, but..." A fresh blush tinges his cheeks. "...Sometimes, words can't describe certain," the blush reddens all the more with this second pause. "...Situations." He mentally churns through the idea of her seeing that book, everything. His eyes still look to the table, unsure if he doesn't want her to ask to see it... or the opposite.

The pony-girl hmmms softly, seeing his obvious discomfort. "Like a journal?" Her tone is gentle and low in an attempt to not seem threatening.

As he looks back up, slowly, his cheeks are still red. "Yes; very much so. Exactly." His three confirmations seem to be enough to seal the idea.

Caoimhe nods with a gentle smirk. "I see..." She trails off, then changes the subject. She's curious about the journal, but would never even entertain the idea of prying into someone's personal thoughts in such a manner. "Would you like to go and pick up your robe in town?"

The scribe is seemingly relieved the subject has been dropped. "Yes... and your blouse." He smiles warmly, his eyes going back to that faraway gaze. "I can't wait to see what MacKnight has done with it."

Shy as ever, Caoimhe takes her turn to blush. She attempts to hide the blush behind her teacup as she drains it. Once drained, she sets it down and pushes herself up to her hooves. Her companion leaves the seat, sliding it in with his knee, again,

a smooth, flowing move. "Well, then, let us depart." He clasps his hands before him.

Caoimhe nods. "Yes, let's" She offers him a warm smile, then trots out, snatching up her 'saddle-pack' and stave on the way. Khristoph follows, keeping close, but again, not too close as they head into town. He beams warmly, altogether pleased by the morning so far.

The packed earth of the main road through town doesn't give up so much as a puff of dust in the cool, damp morning as the short, stocky centauress and the lithe young man make their way toward the Naked Bird from the North. They chat amiably of trivialities, speaking up a bit to be heard over the studding thudding of Caoimhe's wide hooves. Khristoph's smile is wide, pleased to be escorting the object of his affection. He stretches lightly, still letting the morning settle in.

Caoimhe looks about, then heads toward the Naked Bird. "Things look a little livelier than they did last night."

Khristoph nods. "Indeed. It's quite busy now." He follows her, going towards the clothing shop. "Do you think the General Store will be open?"

A tall human slips out of the general store. His actions are smooth and graceful, his appearance rather unassuming. He's perhaps a touch over six feet tall with plain brown hair and blue eyes that hold a wealth of intelligence and cunning, hidden behind a mild exterior. He seems headed for the currently empty building that will soon house his own business, hanging a rough sign over the door.

Caoimhe glances toward the General Store. "It appears to be, yes." She spots Skye and offers him a warm smile and a nod.

Just a moment after Skye, a black-furred catboy dressed all in black steps through the door. He descends the steps and leans against the foundation for the building, looking down the road in their direction. His hair is tousled, sticking up on his head and his eyes are a piercing blue. A bright red scar mars his right cheek.

Skye adjusts the sign, then steps back to look at it, nodding to himself, "Perfect. Now, I just have to wait for those trolls to show up with all that equipment." He turns and looks to Caoimhe with a smile and a wave, "Morning!" She smiles wider and calls out, "Good morning, Skye," then continues on her way toward the clothiers.

Dante recognizes Khristoph and the lady who'd cast a 'smell' on him a few days before. He runs forward with a bit of a smile on his face, "Khristoph!"

Caoimhe stops as she hears a shout for Khristoph. He looks over when he hears his name spoken. Surely, he's not all that famous. He sees the owner of the voice. "Dante! How fare you?"

Dante looks up and smiles at the woman, her name slipping his mind. He gives her a friendly nod, then addresses the man, "I am great Khristoph, I have found employment and look at this."

Caoimhe smiles in return to Dante, her hooves shifting on the packed earth of the roadway. He pulls a short sword from the sheath at his hip. It is etched with Elvin runes, "It is enchanted, Khristoph." Caoimhe smirks a little, amused by the naivet? of the fellow. She glances about, taking note of the various people coming and going.

Khristoph takes a step back defensively. He's certain Dante would not draw on him in anger, but he still has an edge of a warrior of the Clergy. "Ha, amazing. You already have an extraordinary weapon." He runs his tongue across his parched lips. "I'm glad I have not needed something like that as of yet."

"I was awarded it by Ehlanna for my bravery."

Caoimhe spots Tsuneko through the window of the clothiers. She turns back to her companion and his friend, "Ehlanna is a gracious woman. You are honored by her gift."

Dante sheathes his sword again, quite happy with the prize, "I was defending another woman, my boss." He then shakes his head, remembering his manners, "Khristoph, how fare thee and your lady friend?"

Khristoph claps him on the back, not roughly, but not without a touch of force. "Incredible. Every time I've seen you, it has been in the defense of a lass. You're doing well, I believe. So..." He gives him a raised brow, "No more lifting of purses, I hope."

Dante smirks a bit, "Ah no, no need now that I have employment here at the general store."

Caoimhe mumbles a bit, speaking softly to Khristoph, her eyes straying back to the clothiers. "I'll meet you at the Naked Bird, Khristoph... I'll just go on ahead." She doesn't wait for a response before wandering toward the Naked Bird.

Khristoph nods. "Good man. I would hate to see you less one hand, should someone have decided to have brought their own law down upon you." He sees Caoimhe departing, and then looks back to Dante. "I need to go, please excuse me. Congratulations on your employment. Light and Cross be with you." He turns, following Caoimhe quickly.

Dante nods and then walks back into the general store. Khristoph arrives at the centauress' side in no time flat. "I apologize for keeping you, Lady Caoimhe." She turns to regard him with an apologetic smile, "Oh, no... not at all.. I didn't want to rush you."

Khristoph shakes his head. "No rush, none at all." He smiles sweetly, his eyes half-lidded. "May I trouble you to ask that you accompany me to the General Store after we are done at the Naked Bird?"

Caoimhe smiles softly, finding it no inconvenience at all and sweetly beguiled by his charm. "Not at all. I don't mind." He opens the door for her, "Here you go."

Caoimhe steps in with a soft blush and a quiet, "Thank you." She turns toward the sapphire blue catboy who sits embroidering by the window. Her smile is warm and friendly, her tone one of familiarity, "Good evening, neko."

Startled, the shiny catboy jumps up, accidentally stabbing his finger with the embroidery needle. His ears droop a bit as he smiles back to her. Khristoph notices the wound as he steps in behind Caoimhe, her soft gasp alerting him. "Oh, hey there..." He looks the wound over, "You... okay?"

"Hello, Miss Caoimhe." He slips his finger into his mouth and waves with the other hand. The gentle healer is still worried and asks, "Are you alright?"

Tsuneko speaks a quick word of incantation, casting a small healing spell on himself, "I'm ok." He quickly checks to make sure that no blood fell on the heavy velvet that he embroiders.

Caoimhe gives a little nod, then indicates the human cleric at her side. "Tsuneko, I think you've met Khristoph?" Her tone is questioning, not quite certain.

The catboy's own expression is vague, out of focus and confused, "...err... not sure" Khristoph clears his throat just slightly, getting right down to business. "We had two orders, Tsuneko. One was the robe, it should look familiar. I placed the order officially last night; already paid. The second should be a blouse, a very becoming shade of blue; silken, for her, of course." He gestures to Caoimhe, then glances back at the tailor. "Yes, we met before."

Tsuneko gives a bit of a nod before turning and making his way to the back room. He calls out softly, "Ah, yes. Here we are!" Finding the orders complete, he is quick to return with the garments, padding lightly on his feet. He hands them to Khristoph and proceeds to instruct him on care. "Right, Sir. The battle robes need not to be washed with lime or it will ruin the fabric. Just water and a lighter cloth to clean should be fine."

Caoimhe smiles softly to neko as he speaks, listening attentively. As he finishes, he smiles in return and gives a little bow. Khristoph nods in return, accepting the steel-gray material, rolling it in his hands to see the red embroidery. It's perfect. "Thank you, very much!" He seems overjoyed, turning a bright smile towards the little catboy.

"If you wish any further assistance, don't hesitate to ask. The embroidery was my work, by the way." His tone is slightly condescending, taking an overt pride in his work.

Caoimhe's tone is soft in return, gentle and accepting, "Thank you, neko."

"Absolutely," Khristoph nods, giving it another once-over. "Masterfully done. If I need anything else, I will not hesitate to ask." He glances up to catch Caoimhe eyeing the ice-blue silk in his hands, just peeking from behind the battle robes. Her eyes are all aglitter as she anticipates the finished product.

"Indeed, thank you for your custom order. The embroidery is delicate and will spoil with the lime treatment, hence the directives for care, Sir. Please, Sir, look over the silk to see if it is up to your standard?"

The eager centauress smiles brightly at neko's suggestion, appearing much like an excited youth. One is reminded precisely how young she really is. She's been made to bear such responsibility from such an early age.

Khristoph takes his time trying on the battle robe, finding it perfect in fit. Only then does he look over the silken blouse, gingerly, as to not mar it. "Very, very nice." He turns, offering it to Caoimhe. "Here you go."

With bated breath, she catches the liquid silk in her small hands, letting it run across her palms, sliding almost out of her grasp before she takes hold, raising it up to look it over with a glowing smile. "Oh, it's lovely!" She remembers to breath and blushes deeply, realizing she has an audience.

The tailor urges her gently, "Go on, Miss, try it on. You know you want to." His tone is only mildly teasing. Khristoph nods in agreement, eagerly... almost too eagerly, "Yes, please."

Caoimhe lowers her gaze demurely, the blush burning a rosy pink. She glances at the changing rooms in the back, then to Khristoph, her eyes holding a hopeful shine, "If you don't mind waiting...?" She trails off, her tone lilting upward in question.

He steps back, the robe flowing with his steps, betraying any action beneath them as they glide. "Not at all." She steps in, following his retreat just long enough to lean up, her lips brushing his cheek before she turns to scamper (there really is no other word for it) to the changing room, her hooves making a sharp tappity tap on the floor.

Khristoph smiles warmly, seeing her reactions, happy to see her so happy. He draws his arms tightly across his chest, the cross insignias on the sleeves touching together at the middle. He trembles just slightly, glad she cannot see him, lest he act foolish in her presence. The catboy tailor smiles and puts away his embroidering for the evening. Yawning heavily, one paw positioned over his gaping maw with its sharp little teeth, he picks his keys up and waits for Caoimhe to emerge from the dressing rooms.

Caoimhe does seem to be taking awhile... She's hesitating as to whether or not to she should model the blouse for them, or take it off until she gets home. Out in the main area, Tsuneko seems happy to wait, using the time to finish his tidying of the shop. Khristoph, too, seems content, leaning against the countertop lightly, nodding to neko. He knows his eyes must sparkle and his smile but tinged with bliss. He doesn't seem to mask his expression, at least not as fervently as he does before her. Tsuneko just does a few clean spells to save time. He smiles once more to Khristoph before putting carrying the till to the back room. Left alone with his own thoughts for a few moments, Khristoph paces the floor, a touch nervous, waiting to see how she will look.

In the fitting room, Caoimhe bites her lower lip, steeling her nerves. She steps out into the main room of the shop. The ice-blue silk clings suggestively to her more than ample curves. It accents her pale skin and black hair, the coolness contrasting with her warm, blushing cheeks. She smoothes her hands over her abdomen nervously, "Well?" She looks up expectantly, anxious for an opinion.

Her steps alert Khristoph to her emergence and he turns on his heel to see her. His breath is stolen from him. His hands go to his own slightly reddened cheeks, gulping dryly. His voice is quiet when he finds words. "It's perfect."

Stepping back into the room from the back, Tsuneko smiles wide and purrs, "Very nice, Miss Caoimhe." His words cut short her blushing reply, her lips parted to speak as he does. She turns to look at him, then lowers her gaze quickly, caught unaware by the heat in his sky-blue eyes. "Thank you, neko. It feels lovely... " She trails off, glancing back at Khristoph, scrunching her nose a bit and unable to meet his eyes.

Tsuneko smiles and nods, "Well, I must usher you two lovely people out so I can lock up."

Khristoph's hands slide down his face, to cup before his chest, then to his sides. His smile is broad. "Yes, of course, let us depart, no need to keep Tsuneko waiting." He nods politely to the cat person. "Thank you so much." Caoimhe nods to neko as well, thankful for his timing. She didn't know how to respond to Khristoph's compliment, though it was obvious she was pleased. Clutching her sweater to her chest, she trots out quickly.

Khristoph follows, watching her intently as she passes him, not meeting her eyes with his own. Tsuneko, too, soon follows after, only blowing out the candles and turning down the lamps first. He pauses on the steps, locking the shop. He calls out absently, "Goodnight... Thanks"

Caoimhe trots toward the General Store, still glowing, her generous friend at her side, smiling down at her, his own eyes dancing. "What else do you need to pickup?"

Her question catches him in mid-syllable, "I... pickup?" He snaps-to, his thoughts coming around full circle, "Oh! Yes! General Store!" He chuckles weakly. "Oh, just a few things. In and out in no time flat."

Blushing, Caoimhe nods, wondering what he'd been about to say. She continues toward the store. "May I come in? I have been meaning to take a look around." Half-dashing, half-floating past Caoimhe to mount the steps to the door of the building, Khristoph nods, "After you, Lady Caoimhe." He pulls the door open.

With a slight bowing of her head, Caoimhe steps into the building, her full black tail swishing against her feathered fetlocks. Khristoph is just one step behind her.

Dante, the black cat person, straightens up a bit, holding his head. "Khristoph and Caoimhe, a pleasant surprise indeed. Can I help you?" The second clerk is a female Torian, one of angel-winged peoples. She seems pleasantly surprised to see Khristoph enter the shop behind the lovely little centaur.

Caoimhe looks up at Dante, her cheeks still warm with the blush, "Oh, hello, Dante. I'm just looking around. Khristoph has a purchase." She glances toward the toward as the girl rises quickly, "Khristoph Maelese! This is a pleasant surprise. How be you?"

Dante nods to Caoimhe and while he is glad to see his friends, he seems a bit embarrassed, turning his bright eyes down and to the side. He turns his attention to Khristoph as the cleric steps forward, drawing the leather-bound book from its satchel. The Satchel itself appears very worn and patched to the very careful eye of a craftsman. "You will have to write about my reform in your journal, Khristoph!"

The comment causes Caoimhe to blink, her own gaze turning toward Khristoph, "Does everyone know of your journal?" Her tone is teasing and playful, a light smile turning up the corners of her full lips.

His reply is first for Dante, giving a slight nod, "Err, yes, I will." ~Odd. How did he know about the journal? Ah, he must've seen it over my shoulder,~ he thinks, ~as I was sitting at the bar. One must take better care as to avoid prying eyes.~ He turns to Caoimhe, shaking his head with a simple answer of, "no."

The debonair, if a bit inexperienced cat turns eagerly to his companion. The Torian looks a bit crestfallen, thinking that Khristoph seems to ignore her. She moves behind the counter quietly as Dante speaks, "Tell Khristoph how I have changed, Maya!"

Khristoph does not notice her pained expression as he flips through the journal to the page that holds the list of necessary items. Quickly, he dabs his quill in a pouch holding the ichor, then puts a line through the listing for the robe. Only then does he look up, nodding to Torian clerk, "Good evening, Mayalaya." His tone his gentle as he sees the hurt in her eyes, "I'm sorry I did not notice you. I..." He shakes his head, finding no excuse. "I apologize."

A smile and a twinkle in her eye soon replace the sad look as Mayalaya glances at the one called Caoimhe, and then back to Khristoph. Caoimhe smiles warmly to Maya and nods. She's never met the girl that she recalls.

"Oh, that is alright. Your apology is accepted. You were busy with your ...writings." Mayalaya glances at Caoimhe once more, catching her smile.

All at once, Khristoph and Mayalaya speak up in unison. Khristoph gestures to Maya, nodding to Caoimhe at the same time. "Caoimhe, meet Mayalaya. Mayalaya, this is Caoimhe."

"Miss... You must be Caoimhe... From how Khristoph has... " Maya trails off, laughing as the words fly across each other in the air. She steps out from behind the counter and walks over to Caoimhe, gently reaching out her hand towards her.

With a deep blush, Caoimhe nods, slightly self-conscious that she had been spoken of. "Yes, a pleasure to meet you, Mayalaya." She gives the winged-girl her hand, the other holding her tattered sweater to her belly.

Dante speaks up, his ears pitched forward. "Can I get you anything, Khristoph?" Khristoph nods, and looks again at the page. Time for business. "Satchel, much like the one I have now. Stronger straps, if possible. An artisan's belt pouch, made for holding pots of ink." He clears his throat slightly. The two men go about their business while the girls get a little better acquainted.

"And you Caoimhe... before I gained employment here, I thought I might see if you were in need at the Healer's Guild." Caoimhe tilts her head, "We are always in need, Mayalaya." Her tone is soft, but genuine. She believes strongly in her work.

"Indeed for many are the fights I have seen near and in the Inn, and even here in town. You do blessed work to heal those grievously injured."

Caoimhe nods to Mayalaya, "Are you a healer, Miss?" Mayalaya eyes take in her calm and kind expression, her silky hair... her lovely coat. "No, ma'am... a warrior, one year out of my role birth. My mother though, was a mage and she worked in the healing arts...I should say, 'my mother IS a mage,' for she lives still in the far north."

Caoimhe ohs softly, "Perhaps work as a bodyguard would be a suitable position. If you should ever feel the need... please do not hesitate to apply."

Mayalaya smiles, "Oh, thank you, ma'am. If I find I have time I will come speak to you... " The Torian woman trails off, noticing that Dante is throwing looks at her. She starts back toward the counter. "Errr... excuse me"

Caoimhe nods, then turns away to browse the store, her hooves tapping gently on the hard floor. She pays them no attention as she peruses the store, now and then reaching out to touch this item or that... a candle... a scarf... a book of poetry...

She continues on, then pauses before the jewelry, admiring it without touching.

Mayalaya looks up and catches sight of Caoimhe by the jewelry counter. Quickly, she walks over to her, not wanting to miss the chance to make a sale of one of the more expensive items in the store. She smiles and says, "Ma`am, some of this is lovely work don't you think?"

Glancing up at Mayalaya, the centauress smiles, "It's beautiful, isn't it? It heartens me to see such beauty come from the earth."

"I want to show you this... " Caoimhe perks up at her words, looking up again. The clerk pulls out a finely crafted necklace: a chain of small golden links with a large, deeply colored emerald that glows with green fire and wrapped delicately in fine gold wire. It is the Emerald of Annareece. Mayalaya's own gaze is drawn to the stone again, so deep... so rich... so much the color of life.

At the counter, Dante watches the girls as he attends to Khristoph's purchase. His voice is but a hushed whisper, "If you don't watch out, you could be walking out of here broke." He offers a soft, friendly laugh.

Mayalaya catches the soft whisper and calls back, "Nae, Dante. This is a thing of wondrous beauty to me. I would like to meet he who made it someday." She lays the necklace on the counter carefully, spreading the chain out aesthetically. After admiring the jewel a moment, Caoimhe speaks up softly, "mmmm... Indeed. It is lovely."

Taking a few short steps, Khristoph finds himself at Caoimhe's side. The necklace is indeed pretty, but holds a small candle to the radiant beauty that is nearby.

"It has the color of life, ma'am. The green of the growing things that sustain us all." Dante laughs at Maya's comment, but takes it into his memory. He may be able to use that bit of information someday down the road. Suddenly self-conscious of all the focus on her, Mayalaya blushes, "Well at least it seems that way to me." She looks down to Caoimhe, "We have other things, too."

Khristoph watches Caoimhe as she smiles, nodding to Mayalaya, unaware of his thoughts. He fights down the urge to grasp lightly at the material that hugs her body just so, to run it through his hands while she wears it. The sensation is maddening and he quickly turns his full attention to the stone. "Yes, very nice rock."

Mayalaya pulls out some finely crafted gold necklaces, laying them out next to the Emerald of Annareece. She muses softly to herself, lost in thought. "I've heard a tale of that emerald..." She stops, coming to as Caoimhe speaks up with a nod, "They are lovely, yes... but I prefer silver and platinum." It is then that Mayalaya notices her platinum Guild ring and a silver unicorn pendant that hangs against her skin. Khristoph nods in agreement, "Silver is very pretty."

Dante moves to stand behind Maya, placing his hands gently atop her shoulders. He just wants to be close to her. He massages her shoulders, admiring the jewelry and hoping that one day he can afford those rocks for her.

"The gold makes my skin look sallow," Caoimhe confides. With a smile and a nod, Mayalaya agrees, "Yes, I suppose it would. I was looking more at your coat than your skin."

Unbeknownst to Maya, her words have a profound affect on Khristoph and he tries to keep his mind off the beauty beside him, steeling his will as he looks over some necklaces idly. Caoimhe nods, "I love green. It does go well with my coat."

Dante wanders off with a sigh, sitting at the counter and feeling rejected by Mayalaya's attention being turned to customers rather than toward him, despite the fact she's actually doing her job.

Mayalaya thinks hard as she starts pulling out this and that, setting out various pieces on the counter: A few finely crafted armlets, bracelets and anklets. She adds a few toe and finger rings, all in platinum and silver. "An emerald set in platinum might look fetching..." She looks to Caoimhe for confirmation.

Caoimhe nods and hmms softly before responding, "I think it would." She smiles, "Perhaps when I am rich." She gives a little wink, leaning unconsciously toward Khristoph at her side. He swallows down the last of his desire, thankful that the company adds for distractions. He silently debates whether getting that silk blouse was such a great idea; it's not helping him keep his mind clear of Caoimhe. He must not make assumptions for feelings or situations that did not exist. She was there and he would be there for her always. He looks to Mayalaya, "Oh?"

Mayalaya laughs with a bright smile, "Well, we order often. I wonder what kind of jewelry would work..." She tilts her head to the side, looking Caoimhe over. "An anklet perhaps? Finely engraved and set with an emerald? For one of your hind legs?"

She shifts her gaze to Khristoph, "The platinum would compliment her current jewelry, and the emerald would accent the beauty of her coat."

Caoimhe considers the though, having never imagined an anklet. She takes a moment to imagine what it might feel like when she trots. After a short time, she nods, "Yes, I think that might be pretty. what do you think?" She turns to Khristoph for his opinion.

At the sudden attention from both the women, he straightens a bit, exhaling softly. "Whatever you wish, m'lady. I think it would be perfect." He nods slowly, his eyes not focusing any one place for too long.

Mayalaya thinks hard, then nods. "I would think.... that it might custom fitted to the shape of your leg, or ankle... then it would not be loose or chafe you when you move." She smiles, pleased with her ingenuity.

Examining the jewelry on the counter, Caoimhe nods and hmms softly. "I think it might be all right if were rounded on the edges, like this here," she indicates a smoothly beveled ring.

Dante sighs and steps outside, his head clouding him again. He doesn't mean to be rude, but he leaves without excusing himself. Mayalaya looks up from the ring, glancing at Dante, then back to Caoimhe. "Yes, that might work." She glances toward the door, thinking that perhaps it is getting late. "I will let you know if we get such an item in, Miss Caoimhe."

"Thank you, Maya," she nods, then looks to Khristoph. "Shall we go?" He looks to the ring as well, mumbling, "Indeed." His eyes rise to meet hers and he smiles sweetly, "Yes, let's." He looks back to Mayalaya. "Thank you, very much."

With a warm smile for Maya, Caoimhe says, "A pleasure meeting you." Mayalaya smiles to them both, "Thank you. And it was a pleasure to meet you as well, Caoimhe. Goodnight to you both."

Caoimhe and Khristoph exit the building, Khristoph staying close behind Caoimhe as he pockets the remaining items. Sitting outside and leaning against the building's wall, Dante chews on the end of a piece of straw as he ponders. He nods to the couple absently, deep in thought. Khristoph nods in return to Dante, "Goodnight, Dante."

Caoimhe turns her beaming smile on Khristoph, "Shall we head home, or do you have more business?" His response his slow and he shakes his head but a bit, "No more business. Again, thank you... for everything." He sighs softly, closing his eyes as he does so, only to open them as he draws breath again. He bows his head slightly, shifting the weight of the new satchel before remembering he no longer needs to. Mentally, he praises the craftsman who made this one.

The tilt of Caoimhe's head is inquisitive, her lips pursed softly, "No need to thank me..."

Idly grinding the toe of one boot into the ground, Khristoph presses his hands behind him, his eyes shining. Once again, his eyes rove over her new blouse, noticing the way the soft light of night dances across the silk and makes her skin seem to glow. "Wow..." The word escapes his lips, his cheeks aflame. "It looks even more amazing in the moonlight."

Caoimhe blushes profusely, but can't help but to smile as well as butterflies dance a merry jig in her belly. She licks her suddenly dry lips, "Thank you, Khristoph. I really like it." She takes a step forward and leans in, glancing up almost shyly before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "It's a perfectly lovely gift."

The young cleric's smile is warm, his eyes bright. "I'm ever so glad you like it." His right hand reaches up, two fingers touching the spot where her lips had brushed his flesh. "Let's go home. I'm sorry I haven't cleaned up yet."

She shakes her head as she turns to trot north and out of town. "It's alright. I'm not a stickler about it..." Following close, Khristoph folds his arms, tucking his hands into either sleeve. He does not need the cloak to fight off the slight chill in the air, his pounding heart does well enough to provide him with warmth.

Innocent and glowing in the dark of the night, the cleric and the healer seductress, once-druidess make their way across the open clearing before Caoimhe's Manor. Their steps are like a dance, a courtship of physicality, their forms so vastly different, but yet still quite suited for one another.

Caoimhe clutches her tattered sweater to her chest. She doesn't want to put it on and spoil the affect of the cool breeze against her silk-clad flesh, but the night -is- a bit chilly. She breaths deeply of the night air and steps up onto the porch.

Khristoph follows dutifully just a step behind, careful not to trip up or make her wait. The new weight on his person takes getting used to, but he is grateful. He now possesses all the tools of his trade, all brand-new.

A delicious shiver runs through Caoimhe at the feel of the iced, ice blue silk glissading across her skin. She sighs softly, pausing before going for the door. She turns to face Khristoph, "I had a good time. Thank you. It... made up for the bad mood I woke up in."

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Khristoph takes her in, his breath beginning to quicken with his pulse. "A bad mood?" He solemnly hopes that he was not the cause; his eyes show his concern as well. It was true, he did not run away from her.

He wanted nothing more than to stay at her side. Why did he slip away to write?

The gentle centauress' brow furrows slightly as she nods, "I do not sleep well sometimes." Another shiver traverses her spine, eliciting a twitch of her coat, though this shiver is far less pleasurable than the first as she remembers her recurring dream.

Khristoph nods slowly. "Ahh... about that..." He pauses, uncertain if he should continue. He decides to, no longer wishing to hide anything from her again. "It is what awoke me... You did turn in your sleep... I wished to wake you, to make sure you were safe... but..." He blinks a bit, "I ... touched you... and you seemed to stop." He could feel his pulse race even more. Swallowing dryly brought no comfort, only a slight pain in his throat from the lack of moisture.

Tilting her head, a curious expression crosses her features as one thought follows the next in quick succession. Her voice is soft and thoughtful, "Perhaps that is why the cycle did not complete..."

"I..." Khristoph's brow furrows in thought, one eyebrow raised. His hands slide down to his sides, the feel of the new cloth rubbing gently against his skilled fingers. "I beg your pardon?"

The pony-girl starts from her reverie and looks up, eyes blank for a moment. "Hmm? Oh!" She blushes, dismissing the matter with the wave of a hand, "It is a recurring dream I have." She tries to sound casual, but the tension is clear in her tone.

Braving a step closer to her, his tone is gentle, "If you would allow me to know..." He looks into her eyes, compassion flowing freely, his expression showing the deepest of care. "...What is this dream that happens again and again?"

Caoimhe closes her dark eyes for half a moment before letting them rise to meet hi. Her breath catches then, throat constricting. She wants to spill it al out... share it with someone... anyone trustworthy. She opens her mouth to speak and no sound issues forth.

The trained cleric waits patiently, seeing her speech trouble her. "As you have said to me, I can tell you anything. Let me be there for you as well, Caoimhe." His voice is soft as morning dew, coaxing her forth.

With a nod, she swallows the lump that threatens to choke her. Caoimhe's voice, when she finds it, is low, almost trancelike as she recalls the minute details of the dream. "I am trotting through the forest and all around me plants lie wilted and browning. Suddenly, before me stands a specter in black robes. I cannot see his face behind the hood. I know it is he and not she, for the form is so thin.... His hand reaches out for me, beckoning me... so thin... so pale..." She trails off a moment, lost in the memory.

Taking in her words, Khristoph nods slowly. His bangs fall forward over his eyes, though he makes no motion to clear them, oblivious to their interference. She shakes her head to regain focus and continues, "I step forward, I have no choice as he compels me so strong... He... pulls me into his thin arms... embraces me. At first I feel trapped... afraid... but then almost..." She searches for the proper word, "secure. in the next moment I awaken in a patch of dry dirt. I rise, alone... empty... I wander from the spot, looking for the specter, be he is gone. As I look down, I see that everywhere I step, the plants wither and die and I... am garbed all in black." She shudders briefly, then looks away. "And then I wake up."

Khristoph looks down at his boots. "I'm afraid I do not know what the dream means." He pauses, "Perhaps I could consult the gods on this matter." He pauses again, taking in a soft breath. "Faceless... Black robes..." He shakes his head. He is unsure and would not wish to startle her with his thoughts as such and so, he trails off.

The gentle centauress nods, breathing once more in a soft rush, "Thank you, Khristoph. I have never been a... religious person. I find my divinity in our mother Gaia, but I would appreciate any help I can get in this matter. It... disturbs me."

Looking up from his boots, Khristoph's eyes are saddened. The grief is two-fold. One, that he cannot provide an instant answer, to uncloak this mystery quickly. The second, is that she has suffered this dream, he can imagine, several times. TO be a Druid, and to kill the earth you trod... It must feel awful.

His compassion is so clear in his glance that it tugs at the pony-girls heartstrings, causing her to blink, nearly bringing her to tears. She looks down, a shiver reminding her once more of the chill on the porch.

Seeing her reaction, Khristoph clears his throat. "Let's get you inside. I'll build a fire if you wish." She nods, without raising her eyes, "Yes, let's. A fire would be lovely, thank you." Her words are slightly stiff with the effort to keep her voice from shaking.

Khristoph opens the door for her, allowing Caoimhe to precede him. "After you." She brushes past him gently into the cottage. It's noticeably warmer, but still quite a bit chilly. Caoimhe steps to the side, setting her sweater down on the small table there as she unsnaps her stave from the pack on her broad equine back. Caoimhe reaches down between her forelegs to unbuckle the weight of her 'saddle pack', dropping it to the floor with a thud. She steps away from it, rubbing her arms briskly.

The sometimes-nimble cleric is quick to shuffle in, closing the door behind them. The belt pouch and satchel are left in his wake, each being lightly dropped near the door as he heads directly for the fireplace.

As he passes, Caoimhe catches her arm gently, her smiles soft and her eyes gently beseeching, "Would you mind starting it in my room?" Khristoph nods quickly, "I'm sorry. I forgot how late it is. You must be exhausted." He himself is barely tired, sleeping most of the day. He will need the extra energy to stealthily do his chores while Caoimhe sleeps.

Her smile is grateful and soft, words quiet, "Thank you." Her cheeks are colored now with both the pale pink of cold air against tender flesh and the brighter shade of blush. She is all too aware of the supple silk slipping across her skin at that very moment, the sensation most noticeable against the crested peak of her taut nipples, the chill in the air having done its damndest to show off one of the perks of the innocent cleric's gift.

And that innocent cleric couldn't have chosen a more... interesting time for his glance to sweep down to her body. Seeing her just so brought a glow of sheer embarrassment to his cheeks. Quickly, his eyes avert down to her hooves, his cheeks burning with shame. He turns, walking briskly to her room. All the while, his mind does not let him forget what he'd just seen.

Upon witnessing Khristoph's humiliation, Caoimhe's own blush deepens. She starts after him quickly, wishing only to console him. She catches up easily, but says nothing, knowing her fumbling attempts would most likely embarrass the young man further.

Although Khristoph feels her behind him, he doesn't pause until he reaches her door. He dare not open it himself. He turns back toward her then, regaining his composure, looking her only in the eyes. He'd shone panic, fear of the unknown... but within the ocular tremors, one could easily see the intense want, hunger that had been battled all evening. Nothing he could do could crush it out, for although his eyes held hers in center focus, his peripheral view was filled with her lower half.

Smiling gently, Caoimhe reaches past him to turn the doorknob and push the door open. Her eyes don't stray from his. If he's as good at reading emotion in a person's eyes as she is, he'll know his desires and affections do not go unmet. The smoldering heat in her eyes is nearly unmistakable.

The inexperienced human sees her reaction well enough and slowly back through the door, turning away only busy himself with the fire. 'Now what,' he thinks. 'One cannot continue dodging, and is this not what you wanted? Yes... it was. But to not know... how...'

The fire was struck much more quickly than is typical and he watched it burn for a few moments, adding a piece of wood he knew would make good coals for a log later. Caoimhe stands close by, relishing the newly formed heat of the budding flame as the fires grows. Her eyes travel freely over his form while his back is turned, not wishing to make him uncomfortable, but burning with curiosity.

Realizing that this close to the fire he doesn't need the combat robe, Khristoph slips it up with a fluid motion, showing the sky-blue, short-sleeved tunic beneath. He to turns to Caoimhe slowly with a soft exhale. "Your fire is complete. I... " He closes his eyes. 'Not now. But? No. What if...? NO.' He opens them again, slower still. "I must finish my duties to the manor."

The look on Caoimhe's face is shock for less time than it takes to blink. The light in her eyes is banked as quickly as it takes to kick sand on coals. She nods, averting her eyes. "If you feel you must." She crosses her arms over her chest and bites her bottom lip, turning to look anywhere right now but at Khristoph.

The thoughtful scribe silently ponders if his decision to pause is the best recourse. Continued pushing away of what burned inside him could leave him without her. It was not that he did not want what they could share, quite the opposite. He just wanted to make sure she was completely comfortable with him... to not fear for him passing away... like the others. "...yes," he says quietly, as if forced to say the word, a knife to his throat.

The centauress nods without lifting her head, unable to meet his gaze. "Goodnight, Khristoph. Thank you, again... for the blouse." She blinks rapidly.

Rising shakily and taking his robe up over his shoulder, Khristoph dare not look at her... her stare could slice him in half right now. He would not refuse if she would but tell him... 'Just tell me... TELL ME to stay.' "G-goodnight, m'lady." He quickly dashed from the room, shutting the door quietly as he leaves.

Khristoph busies himself with anything at this point, trying to think of anything else. Everything he does reminds him of her. Nothing helps. He finishes as quickly and as neatly as he can, then adjourns to his own room, satchel and belt pouch in hand.

Khristoph lies on the bed, looking at the ceiling. He's too tired to cry, to tired to feel... to do anything. He'd overexerted himself in the tasks that should be so easy to accomplish. Without bothering to disrobe, his eyelids fall... and sleep takes him fitfully.

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