A Mutual Understanding

Spiriel had been on the run, frightened, alone, and desperate for more days than she could count now. This strange upperworld with its too-bright sun beating down on her all the time kept her off balance, uncomfortable, and uneasy. She felt like she was constantly squinting to protect her eyes. She hadn't thought her escape through enough to realize what sort of protective clothing she would need. But then again, there hadn't been time. She'd had to take the opportunity to run when she had the chance, and she had been on the run ever since.

The Drow would've sent capture patrols after her, and she had been trying to evade them. She thought that if she traveled when it was most uncomfortable for her, the same discomfort would discourage them from traveling during that time. She might better avoid the patrols that way. She stayed still at night whenever possible, hiding.

But there were many other dangers that she hadn't considered. Their hereditary enemies, the Orcs, patrolled the upper canyons of these mountains, and she had been trying to avoid their patrols too. She had worked her way down and out of the mountains, now in the foothills below the range. She was hungry, tired, and scared, but she was free. Now if she could just stay that way.

The one time of day that she truly enjoyed was dusk. When the great bright orb in the sky dipped low enough to drop below the trees or the mountains, it eased her vision, and she could relax just a little. This was one such time. She had discovered a clear mountain lake and decided to indulge in a bath to refresh herself. It was risky. She knew that other kinds of creatures besides Orcs and Drow might be about. In the last couple days since coming off the mountain, she had hidden whenever she had encountered members of the other races. She knew any lightside Elf that found her would likely kill her on sight. Humans probably weren't much better disposed towards her kind.

Spiriel closed her eyes for just a moment, enjoying the cool clear water she was immersed in. She would still be hungry, maybe scared too, when she finished here, but at least she would be clean and cool. The constant sun seemed to burn into her black skin without mercy as she traveled during the days. This was a welcome relief. She would have to find a place to hide for the night still, and time was slipping away. She slipped under the water one last time before reluctantly heading for the shore.

Just as she was stepping out to her clothing, she heard a branch crack close by!

She snatched her only weapon - a small sacrificial dagger stolen from the temple of Lolth during her escape - and pounced using all the dexterity of her race, resembling nothing so much as a svelte black panther in female form as she landed on the unwary pale creature who had surprised her. The small knife went to his throat as if by sheer instinct. Spiriel was no warrior, nothing more than a temple slave in the underdark. But she possessed the instincts of her race, and the desperation of a slave who had tasted freedom and would not let it be stolen from her now.

The adrenaline that served her so well in her movement now made her pant and her breasts heaved. She became aware, even as she stared down into the wide eyes of the human male she sat astride, of a sharp coldness pressing just under her left breast. She looked down to see the human's dagger point aimed right at her heart. Realizing that she was caught in a stalemate, her pretty dark features curled up in an almost feral snarl of frustration and anger. To have come so far and now to be undone, or even killed, by a human, of all things! Still, she had her knife to his throat too, and one quick slice would kill him just as well. He dared not press his point home, or risk his own death.

For what seemed like several long moments, all she could do was breathe and try to think of what to do. Time was on the side of this human. She had to get away and find a place to hide before the patrols caught up with her. She hadn't time to get dressed and this human would no doubt attack her while she was vulnerable. He could probably even stab her before she could get away. She saw no other choice. Maybe he could be reasoned with. Maybe he had no interest in hurting her, and was only trying to defend himself. She sought her limited memories for the words of the common trade language that the humans were said to use. She didn't know a lot of the words, but she had to try.

Holding up her free hand, palm open and outward towards him, she spoke in her heavily Drow accented words, "No...kill, Man." She only hoped he understood. She slowly reached her hand down to use one finger to gently try to push the dagger point away from her chest, even as she eased the pressure on the knife at his throat, her eyes locked on his the whole time.

Mir picked his way through the foothills of the mountains. It was getting late and there was no way he'd be able to make it back to town by nightfall. Hunting in the hills had been good but they had just been orcs. He wasn't going to get rich off a general bounty on the trouble makers, but, the pouch on his hip rustled where dozens of orc canines clattered about, it would get him a few nights in the inn, food, drink, and a new horse to head out for the next town. It wasn't a bad haul really.

Working as a free lance mercenary wasn't always profitable, it was hard dangerous work that tended to quickly sort out the talented and lucky from those that were not so much. Mir was talented. He was also nearly broke. Too many things sapping his money, he needed to exercise a bit more self control. If he didn't he was going to die poor and alone.

But he wouldn't be dying tonight. He thought he recalled a small pond near here. It would make a good place to bed down for the night and maybe even get some of the orc blood off of him. He adjusted his pack on his shoulders and once again cursed his luck. The week before he'd lost his horse to an ambush, which had left him hard up and with no where to go. He'd accepted the bounty work killing orcs to hopefully put him back on track and tomorrow he'd collect.

His instincts though were not going to get lax, you didn't survive long as a mecenary if you got lazy. When he crested the rise that hid the pond he slowed and crouched low, moving quietly and stealthily. The trees around the pond hid most of it but not all of it, a flash of white caught his eyes and he saw a pile of cloth on the rocks at the shore line.

Mir dropped his pack to the ground quietly and shoved it next to a tree along with several other pouches and assorted supplies, stripping down to just his shield, sword, and a pair of daggers. He picked his way carefully down the slope and around trees, getting close to the water and whoever it was in it. He could hear faint splashes but the trees were sheilding whoever it was.

Then he rounded a tree and finally got a clear line of sight to the water and he froze. The noise he heard was a girl, a coal black girl. Not like the ones from the southern lands, this girl had skin like midnight but hair that was pure white. And she had pointed ears. Mir began to tense up as realization dawned on him, she was a drow. To the right people she would be worth a lot of money, hell if he could find some elves he'd probably be set for life.

Except... he couldn't. The money was tempting but unlike the orcs who had been raiding the nearby towns and needed to be dealt with this girl, drow or not, was just taking a bath. What would be done to any drow he handed over to the authorities or elves didn't bear thinking about, better he just kill her now.

Something about the situation though, something was wrong, very wrong. Why was a drow on the surface? Why was she alone? She was female, so where was her escort, her troops? Something was off, something didn't add up and it was bothering him. She might be a caster of some sort, maybe a cleric, that might explain why she had no escort. That might also be a reason for him to kill her quickly. Mir was a simple man, he relied on his sword and shield, magic and gods and all that were beyond him. He doubted the few shielding talismans he held would slow down a drow witch for long. No, something was off, something was wrong, and it needed to be dealt with. Capturing the girl would be quick and simple and once he had her under control he could start to figure out what was going on and how to deal with it. The first thing he had to do was get her under control and gagged. No hand movements, no voice, no magic.

He started to sneak towards the water, he'd capture her when she came out. He kept one eye on her and another on the terrain, picking his route carefully. His eyes though, two weeks in the hills dodging orcs had left him little to look at and the drow girl was certainly not hard on the eyes. Sure, she was an odd color but she was still an elf and still...

*Crack*

One bad step, half a second of not paying attention and the gods of luck had their way with him. He was looking up from where he'd stepped only to find a black blur rushing at him, the coal black girl moving faster than he'd thought possible with a glint of silver in her hands before she launched herself at him through the air. He barely had time to react and get his dagger out of it's sheath before she landed on him and had her knife at his throat.

But instead of killing him she hesitated, and in that moment seemed to notice his dagger poised at her chest. That moment of hesitation became two, then three then seconds as they both assessed the situation. For Mir supporting her weight wasn't difficult, she weighed next to nothing, but the knife pressed to his throat was another matter. For his part Mir wasn't about to relent. His instincts told him that if he relaxed she's press home her advantage and kill him, it's what he'd have done, yet that's what she did. He saw her empty hand come up and her knife pull back slightly.

"No...kill, Man."

She used that free hand to ease his knife away from her breast even as she moved her own knife from his neck just a fraction of an inch. He nodded his assent and let her push his knife back.

Which gave him the advantage. Years of fighting and surviving let him turn a half second's relaxation to his opening. His own big hand wrapped around her's that held his knife while he dropped his own to grab her other hand. He spun in place, falling forward, while she was still on him, driving them both to the ground where his greater bulk and strength pinned her to the ground. Twisting around in the leaves he quickly had her rolled over on her stomach with both her arms pinned behind her back with him crouched over her.

"No kill drow," he said back to her. "But that doesn't mean you can shove a knife in my throat for free."

Spiriel breathed just a little easier as her fingertip moved the point of the man's dagger away from her breast. He seemed to acquiesce just enough, giving a slight nod. It was enough. Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe he only wanted to get away from her as much as she wanted to get away from him. She began to have hope that she could get out of this predicament after all.

But in the next moment, her hope fled with the echoes of her startled yelp. It wasn't even a scream, there was no time for that, so quickly did the human move and entrap her. His hand closed on her wrist, squeezing hard, and the little alter dagger slipped from her dark slender fingers. She took a breath to scream as they fell, but it was driven from her lungs when they both hit the ground hard. Her head bounced on the ground, stunning her momentarily. His weight atop her pinned her beneath him, but she could only struggle weakly as flashes of light swam before her vision.

Vaguely she was aware of him on top of her, pinning her arms behind her. She opened her mouth to scream or plead for him to let her go, and managed to get a mouthful of last season's leaves and forest detritus. She sputtered to try to spit them out as she heard his words hissed near her ear. She didn't understand all of them, but knew enough to determine he wasn't going to kill her. But there were worse things he could do to her.

Her struggles underneath him renewed at that thought, but pinned as she was they were feeble and ineffective. That is they were not effective in securing her escape. The effect that her warm wriggling body underneath him did have brought a sudden end to her struggles when she felt it. She grew still with a whimper, certain that she knew what was coming next.

Mir held her down as she struggled under him. She fought with a surprising amount of strength, even desperation. Just violently thrashing under him. She had no chance, he was bigger than her and stronger but none the less he had to stay on her to keep her from getting loose. She tried to speak but spit out a mouthful of leaves.

He wasn't the smartest man, but she'd gotten her chance to speak and she hadn't melted his face off or turned him into a woman. In fact she'd never tried to cast any spell, just leaping at him with dagger.

All her wiggling was having an effect on him though but his mind was racing so fast he didn't even notice it until he felt her go rigid and start to shiver. That was when he realized the effect she was having on him. Her delightful little body wiggling against him was getting a rise out of him. It would be easy, out here there was no one to stop him. Hell, she was a drow, no one would care, some would even encourage him. Except that she was terrified. At that moment he could feel it in her body. She was terrified, of him, and then she whimpered.

Mir let her go and quickly stood up. There was nothing he could do about his excitement, she'd felt it. Intentional or not it had been there, and to his disgust the thoughts had crossed his mind. He started to stay something to her, but couldn't find the words, much less any she'd understand. So instead he fetched her dagger, picking it up and examining it. It was small and silvery, with delicate engraving covering every inch of it. It was too fancy to be a work knife and the balance was all wrong. It was too small and poorly shaped to be a weapon truly meant to be a weapon. He stuck it in his belt and walked to her clothes on the rock, picking them up and turning back to the girl, tossing them towards her after noting their make. Simple, clean, with some decoration but not much. He doubted the dagger belonged to her which meant she'd stolen it.

He stopped, looking down at her clutching the clothes to herself and tried to think about what he'd do. He could just leave her, ignore her, but looking at how pitiful she was, the dagger really was all she had of any value, he knew that would end with her dead in short order. Turn her over to the authorities? Same result. He couldn't stomach either of those options. So he was back to the same question he had when she jumped on him, what to do.

He had no answer so he did what he'd do for anyone else, reaching into a small pouch on his waist and pulling out a small hard biscuit, taking a bite for himself before tossing the rest to her. "Food. Eat."

It was not the kind of treatment she had expected.

She had been hurt that way before; there was a particular army officer among the drow who especially liked to avail himself of her in the most painful and degrading way he could. But one thing she had learned the heard way was that he made it hurt much worse if she struggled. And so she was lying still, trembling in dreaded apprehension of what she was sure was about to happen.

But it didn't happen. As sure as she was that this human would be no different than the men of the Underdark, she was in for a surprise when he suddenly got off of her and let her up. She scooted quickly backwards to put her back against a tree trunk, covering her breasts with one arm thrown across them, and cupping her other palm over the mound of her sex. She could plainly see the tell-tale bulge in his trousers that showed his interest, but for whatever reason, he let her up.

She watched warily as he picked up the small knife she had dropped. Would he know she had stolen it in her escape? Her silver-grey eyes noted that he did not give back the little blade, yet neither did he menace her with it. Then he handed her clothing to her, allowing her to cover her nudity. He regarded her as she stared back at him, slipping the simple woven shift over her head and working her arms through the short sleeves. She had no underclothes. A simple belt at the waist completed her outfit. Of course he watched, and she was sure he saw pretty much all that she had tried to cover up anyway. But he made no move to molest her and she found this curious. No. Curious would not be an accurate description of how his behavior made her feel. More like confused, perhaps.

In the Underdark, Spiriel's world consisted of those who used, and those who were used in turn. At different times, she supposed everyone used someone for their own benefit. The only real question was, when was it coming, and how bad would it be. This human wasn't harming her now, most likely only because he had other plans for her later. She suspected something would be coming; she just didn't know what. There was no longer any question of fighting him off should he decide to harm her. He had taken her only weapon, and she was no match for him physically, especially after being on the run, tired, cold, and hungry much of the time.

She tilted her head to the side, observing him curiously as he rummaged through one of his pouches. Her eyes widened when he pulled out something to eat and tossed it in her direction. She hesitated only a moment, meeting his eyes with questioning wonder at why he would share his food with her, but she was too hungry to resist. She scrambled to where the biscuit had landed, scooping it up from the forest floor with both hands. She was ravenous and wanted nothing more than to greedily gobble the precious food as fast as she could, but just before it touched her lips, she looked back at him and nodded in gratitude. Wasting no more time, she devoured it hungrily, making sure to capture every crumb, and even lick her fingers afterward.

When she'd finished, she rose to her feet, taking a step or two towards him. She held her hands out to her side to show him they were empty and she meant no harm. Puzzling over the words to use in the common tongue, she settled at last on a couple that she hoped would convey her meaning. Pointing to the forest, she said, "Hide. Me now. Soldiers come. Take back me. Kill you, maybe. Bad, bad." Coming a little closer still, she reached out slowly and tentatively, her ebony fingertips barely touching his shoulder only after she was sure he would allow it. She tried what she hoped was a friendly look, smiling slightly. "Hide you-man. Me too. Safe." she said, once again gesturing to the gathering shadows of the forest.

She waited expectantly to see what he would do. He had shown her the kindness of sharing some food, and she thought that sharing a hiding place would be repayment enough. Maybe he would not seek more from her.

Mir watched the drow girl get dressed. His lack of manners was fairly normal for him, but his blatant starring had more to do with his current excitement. He wanted her, that was plain to see, and it was clouding his judgement. Though what he did see didn’t help his excitement. She was one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen.

Mir was not a small man. He was every bit of six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle. He’d been fighting for a living since he came of age and nineteen years of it had sculpted him into the man he was. He kept his dark brown hair shorn short, long hair was too easy to grab in a fight. His green eyes were hard and rarely stopped their slow scan of the surroundings, constantly on edge for the slightest movement, the tiniest detail out of place. He had a thick coating of stubble on his chin and the sides of his face, the evidence of being away from a mirror and any inclination of shaving for more than two weeks.

His skin was ruddy brown from years of exposure to the sun trudging all over the land and it was criss-crossed with an impressive network of scars, some old and fading, some still pink and fresh. If pressed Mir could remember the story behind how he’d received maybe a third of them. Beneath that skin were taunt muscles, an impressive physique to say the least, even more so that it wasn’t the kind some dandy trying to look impressive would have but the thick corded muscles of someone who had developed them through nearly two decades of swinging a sword.

His clothing matched the man, strategically placed pieces of chainmail and plate that provided as much protection as could be had without impeding his movements, all worn over dark brown leathers. The whole collection was worn, with dings, scratches, and creases abounding but none of them deep or threatening. In fact in spite of it’s worn appearance it was obviously well looked after. The stitching on all the straps and fasterners was neat and tight. None of the metal showed any signs of rust or corrosion. Again it was the difference between a showy bit of armor worn by someone who never intended on depending on it to save his life versus a man to whom it was another tool, an important one, one he relied on.

Several pouches festooned his belt and several long daggers were stuck both in his belt, and one peeking out the top of his boots. On his back was a large kite shield that could cover him from shoulders to knees but unlike a regular kite shield this one had a metal edge to it that on the bottom third of the shield had been honed to a razor’s edge. At his waist was a bastard sword in it’s sheath, living up to it’s reputation as a hand and a half sword, even for a man of Mir’s size.

He watched her devour the biscuit he offered. She looked cold and tired and she was plainly hungry. As attractive as she was she was also looking very pathetic at the moment. Still, she was incredibly fast, fast enough to get the drop on him and he wasn’t forgetting that. So when she stood up and started to walk towards him he was wary.

"Hide. Me now. Soldiers come. Take back me. Kill you, maybe. Bad, bad,” she said.

Mir immediately thought of the dagger. It was nice but was it worth sending their troops up to the surface? Doubtful, unless it was owned by someone for whom it had some sentimental value, or being a drow they were just enough of a prick to want it back no matter what. Then again what was this girl? For a professional thief her outfit was odd, an escaped slave maybe? He didn’t know, but he didn’t get to his age as a mercenary by blowing off warnings. He nodded slowly. “Get my stuff,” he said pointing to where he’d deposited his extra gear earlier. “Hide.”

He hoped she’d catch on, and follow him. Then again given how pathetic she looked and now lacking even a knife did she have options? Mir turned and strode off into the woods, back up the hill to where he’d deposited his things. He wasn’t as quiet as when he’d tried, and failed, to sneak up on the girl and he made quick time, grabbing his stuff and hoisting it to his back. He didn’t bother staying to look for pursuers, it was getting dark, and the valley was already falling into blackness. What wasn’t dark was covered in trees. Better to get back down into cover and quickly than futilely search for someone with better night vision while silhouetting yourself against the setting sun on a ridgeline.

Instead he led her down the far side of the hill and followed along the foot of it for half an hour before giving up. It was too dark and the winds were already starting to blow. He was cold in his armor and leather, he didn’t want to think about the girl dressed in what amounted to tabard with a belt.

So Mir set about making camp. The winds coming down out of the mountains were cold during the summer, in late fall they could be positively frigid. His tent was small, only really meant for him. He hadn’t slept in it all trip. In orc territory it was too dangerous to make camp like this, too easily spotted and in better weather he’d just sleep outside, quicker and easier. Tonight though, he could see clouds gathering in the mountains, tonight they’d need shelter. Especially the girl, the loose shawl she had barely protected her modesty, it’d do nothing in the face of a hard mountain wind. Running lines between two trees he quickly put the tent up and anchored it. The thick canvas was durable and on the windward side he started to pile up thin branches and leaves for extra insulation and cover. He tossed his bedroll in the tent then used his pack and gear to help shore up the windward side even more before collecting more clutter and piling it up around the front of the tent. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best they could do in the forest. From a distance it just looked like a mound of bushes and leaves around the base of a couple trees, he hoped.

Mir reached into his pouch and produced another biscuit. Again he took a bite to prove it wasn’t poisoned before stepping up to her and this time handing it over. He pulled off his canteen and took a swig of water to wash the dry bread down and offered it to her. The biscuits were nutritious and could keep for weeks but they were dry as a bone and not really filling. For now it was the best he could do.

Finally, he pointed towards the tent. “Hide, inside,” realizing that it probably sounded ridiculous. Small tent, two people, and neither of them appeared to be ready to trust the other. Then again he didn’t plan on sleeping. The last thing he needed was to fall asleep and have her decide to slit his throat. He pointed towards the mountains and said, “Wind, cold,” making wooshing noises then wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. “I look like a fucking idiot,” he muttered. Then he pointed towards the tent. “Hide, warm.” Hopefully she’d catch on and he wouldn’t have to drag her in and tie her up.

Then he groaned, why did he have to think about that.

Spiriel fell in behind him as he led the way, making sure to keep well out of his reach, just in case. He seemed to have a destination in mind, so she figured he knew of a good hiding place. When he stopped to retrieve some more of his things, she marveled that he had so much. Already by comparison he had much more than she did, but now she wondered how he was able to carry all of it by himself.

Still, he didn't seem to mind, nor complain. He didn't make her carry any of it, so she wasn't too worried. He was a large male, larger than any drow male she'd known. Of course she hadn't had any real experience with You-mans or even any other surface race. but she had seen the bodies of orcs killed in raids, and she had seen the females of some races when they were brought back as concubines or trophy slaves. But this male was big enough and looked strong enough to manage all those belongings just fine. She found herself admiring the way he seemed to move as if the burden of his load never even bothered him. His strides were long compared to hers and she had to take about one and a half steps for every one of his.

She followed him over the hill and deeper into the forest. The sun had set, offering some relief to her sensitive eyes, but only at the cost of it getting colder. By the time he stopped, she was quite chilly, hugging her arms around herself to try to keep some body heat. At first, she was bewildered when she looked around at the place he'd chosen. There was no place to hide here. No cave, no hollow log, no animal's burrow to crawl into. This You-man must be simple minded, she thought, or at least not very good at hiding.

But as she watched him set up the tent and then begin to pile branches and forest detritus up against it, she realized his plan. He was making his own hiding place. She would have been more comfortable and felt safer underground, but in the absence of a cave or tunnel, this would have to do. She even helped to pitch in and gather leaves and branches for him to pile up around the little tent. During the work, which helped to warm her a little, though not much, she even came close to him a time or two.

After they had finished, he offered her more food, to her surprise. It troubled her a little because he had not only given her food before, but now he had even provided his own place to hide. So she had not been able to repay the first meal yet, and now he gave her more. She wondered when and what he would decide to take from her in payment. It was bound to be a steep price considering she had nothing to offer but the clothes she wore and herself.

But hunger overcomes many qualms, and she ate the food as ravenously as before. It was a little dry, but it was better than she'd had in several days. He offered her water to drink, and at fist she was hesitant, only slowly reaching out to take the canteen cautiously, expecting that he might try to grab her again. But he made no attempt, and she was grateful for the drink to wash down the food.

She was just handing the canteen back to him when he gestured to the hiding place and told her to go inside. This was it. She would have to be close to him now. She had helped cover the little shelter with the branches and leaves, and she knew there could not be much room inside. Was this where he would demand repayment for the food? Would he try to hurt her?

She understood his meaning. It was getting colder, and it would be warmer inside the little hiding place. She hesitated a moment, but a gust of night breeze seemed to cut through her light shift and chill her. Her body responded, making little tents in the fabric of her tunic and making her shiver. She side stepped around him, edging towards the entrance to the little shelter, but keeping her eyes on him to watch for any treachery until the last minute when she stood with her back to the tent entrance. She slowly knelt and took a quick peak inside, taking her eyes off him only at that moment. Though it was dark inside, she could see that it wasn't dangerous, and would be much warmer.

Casting a quick glance back at him, she eased back into the tent entrance, bottom first, and quickly moved back into the small space until she could go no farther. There she sat, drawing her legs up close to her body and hugging her arms around her, trying to make herself as small as possible. As she expected, he came inside as well, and his large frame filled the small space, forcing them into close quarters. She could not help feeling the nervous apprehension, and her mind desperately sought for a way to ease the uncomfortable tension. She was already tired and the additional anxiety was wearing her down even more.

How could she sleep here? Did she even dare to trust him? Yet she could already feel the exhaustion creeping into her body. Normally the possibility of danger could have kept her awake, but the food in her tummy was already having a soporific effect and she could tell that she wouldn't last the night without drifting off.

As the two of them sat, facing off with each other, each with their suspicions and doubts, she wondered what she could possibly offer to repay him for the food. She felt that if she could take the initiative, it would be much better if she could choose what to give in repayment, rather than wait until he demanded something of her. But what could she offer him? He had so much already, and had even taken her knife. She was sure he would have no use for her clothes. Even with the decorative stitching of the temple spiderweb designs woven into her shift, it was not a garment fit for a You-man warrior.

She let her gaze drift downwards, taking in the details of his dress and form. That he was some kind of warrior she had no doubt. The sword and armor attested to it. He would be a fighting man, and as such, if he were anything like the drow warriors who came to avail themselves of the temple slaves for their pleasure, he would be the kind who took roughly whatever they wanted, without caring. He wouldn't even care to know her name; she would mean nothing to him, not even be a person in his eyes.

But what if she could change that?

What if she could make him see her as a person, not just an object or a means to an end. She began to form an idea, a hope, that maybe she could gain some small measure of control of the situation. She had to try.

She reached out to him, unsure of whether he could see her in the dark. Speaking softly, but just loud enough for him to hear her over the sound of the wind outside, she said, "You-man....." She touched him lightly on the knee, making sure she had his attention, then touched her chest lightly. "Spiriel. Speer-ee-elle." She enunciated her name slowly, making sure her accent was understandable. Then she cautiously reached out to his chest, touching him lightly. "You-man, you call name?"

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Mir watched the little drow cautiously enter the tent. She kept her silvery eyes fixed on him the whole time as she backed in. Thankfully he was abashed enough about his obvious excitement not to laugh at the absurdity of it. If he was going to harm her he’d have done it by now. No point in leading her through the woods and feeding her if he was just going to kill her, then again she probably wasn’t worried about him killing her so much as taking his excitement out on her. And now he felt like a complete ass, again.

Mir wasn’t a gentleman but he did have his own set of rules. He wasn’t above paying for a night’s company, and he had never woo’d a girl but he wasn’t the kind of man who’d forcibly take his pleasure from a woman. Rent it for the evening, sure, take it, never. Not even when he was in the middle of the woods, all alone with her, and she was a drow that no one would care one whit about. He quickly turned his back as she finished backing in, wiping his hands across his face. Resisting temptation wasn’t something he was well known for, quite the opposite really and his traitorous mind was half the problem.

Still, he heard the flaps of the tent flutter shut and he took that as his clue to join her, whether or not she wanted it. He might be in leathers but he’d be damned if he was kicked out of his own tent on a night like this. So he crouched down and climbed inside. What was usually roomy for him and his things was now cramped with the addition of another person, even a small one. It was dark and she was the color of coal, sinking into the deep shadows in the corner but she appeared to be balled up, watching him. He crawled to the other end, really just shuffled half a body length and turned around, leaning back against his pack and watching her. He stretched out, laying one leg across the opening of the tent before he leaned over and laced it up to keep it closed. Outside he could hear the wind picking up and he hoped the little hollow he’d selected would protect the tent and it’s cover. Most of his weapons were stashed behind him with him leaning on the pack, pinning them down against the tree just outside. In the tiny tent most of them would be useless, completely unable to move around. He settled for keeping one of his daggers, sheathed, in his lap.

He had hoped that his eyes would adjust to the night and he could pick out some shapes against the canvas of the tent but of his companion he could see nothing, she’d disappeared into the shadows completely. What had he been thinking when he’d brought her with him, he should have just left her at the pool. Instead he’d listened to his own damnable conscience and now he was in a tent with a girl who had been ready to kill him an hour before. Now he had to stay away the entire night. He could do it, but he didn’t want to. His plan for the night had been to crash out next to the pond and sleep until his stomach woke him in the morning. He could deal with one more long night, probably. He only had one blanket, and if the girl’s attitude towards him was any indication she didn’t seem inclined to share. He was fishing the blanket out when he heard her quiet voice.

“You-man...,” and she touched him on the knee. Mir’s hand tightened reflexively on the hilt of his dagger but he didn’t move when she didn’t either. He heard a faint rustling in the dark before she spoke again, "Spiriel. Speer-ee-elle." What the hell did that mean? He couldn’t see her but so far she’d spoken passable trade language even if it was simplistic. So he took a chance, patting himself in the middle of his chestplate with his left hand. “Mir, my name is Mir.” Then again maybe she’d told him she needed to pee in Drow, he really had no clue.

Finishing his thought he tossed the blanket to where he thought she was. “Spiriel, sleep,” he said, pantomiming sleeping by folding his hands and laying his head on them. “Mir, watch.” What the hell was wrong with him, watch her sleep huh? Way to make her feel relaxed. That was what he was going to do honestly, he was in a tent, there wasn’t much of a watch to keep, but he didn’t need to say it out loud. This was getting ridiculous. “Mir won’t hurt Spiriel,” he said. Because obviously if he was planning to do something to her in her sleep he’d be up front about it. “Spiriel, sleep.”

She tried out the unusual sounding name, repeating it in a soft voice. "Meer." Her drow accent changed the syllables a little, but it was close enough. She didn't have time to wonder about it just then as she caught sudden movement through her peripheral vision. She reacted without thinking, attempting to flinch backwards, but she was already backed into the corner, and there was no place she could go. As the blanket landed on her, partly spreading to cover her, she gave a startled little squeal. The thought that he tried to capture her in a net flashed across her mind, but she soon realized it was only a blanket, and she tried to calm her racing heartbeat.

Mir's low rumble of a voice sounded again in the darkness. She looked at him to help understand his words. Unlike him, she could see fairly well, her range of vision spilling over into the infrared spectrum. For her, even this darkness was like seeing everything as if it were merely late dusk. Everything appeared monochromatic, but the detail was there in the varying shades. She realized that he was telling her she could sleep, but she was reluctant to give in and leave herself vulnerable.

What would he do to her when she was unaware? Then in the next moment, she realized how foolish her worries were. He was sprawled across the entrance to the tent, part of his body and his legs blocking the way. He was bigger and stronger then she was, and he had all the weapons. If he really wanted to harm her, he could do so at any time, whether she was asleep or not.

And she was so tired. The warmth of the blanket once she wrapped it around herself began to amplify the sleep inducing effect of the food in her belly, and she began to relax a little. She wasn't ready yet to give in to sleep, but she realized that she couldn't hold out all night. Her anxious mind was still turning over the matter of Mir's treatment of her, and the blanket was the latest and possibly the greatest thing he'd given her. She was sure that at some point he would demand payment. With each new consideration he showed her, that ultimate price was going up higher and higher. To her mind, this was the way things were done.

She had not known kindness for it's own sake in all her life. People used one another to get what they wanted. The higher the caste, the more of a user the person was likely to be. Mir was obviously a warrior, which in drow society made him among the highest ranking males there could be. Sure, the nobles were ranked higher, but not much more. Had he been female, he could have aspired to a place among the nobility or even the priestesshood. But in the matriarchal drow theocratic society, drow males were limited at how high in the social order they could go. Still, even a warrior was far above the station of a temple slave girl, and he would have every right to demand payment of her for the generous treatment he'd shown her.

It was these feelings that occupied her mind as she gradually drifted into sleep.

++++++++++++++++

Her chambers were dark, as usual. She hadn't the luxury of a candle save for those that a visitor might bring with them when they came to use her. But she didn't mind the darkness, for it meant solitude, and solitude meant a little time that she could be at peace. No one to make demands of her, no one to use her for their pleasure, and no fear of the ones who discovered that her pain could be their pleasure.

She shuddered at the thought. He had come to her the night before. And as usual, he found delight in forcing her in the most hurtful way he could devise. The last time had been the first time he had insisted on taking her from behind, bending her over the footboard of the little bunk and savagely invading her body. He had been rough about it, using her to work out some anger he had misdirected. But it wasn't supposed to be like that. He wasn't supposed to put it in there.

It had hurt her. She'd tried to resist, tried to squirm away when he pinned her down. When she realized what he intended to do to her, she'd struggled to get away. You just didn't do that to a Commander. Not if you were nothing but a temple slave. He struck her a heavy blow with his fists across her temple. She cringed and cried out, but it did not stop him. His fist wrapped in her silky white hair, doubled around in a twist to take up the slack, and yanked her head back. With his other hand he lined his member up with her tender opening and shoved.

The impact of his body forced her against the foot board of the bunk and pinned her there. She screamed in pain as white hot fire lanced into her bowels. He was impaling her rectum with what felt like a spike of iron, splitting her body and piercing her soul. Hot tears streamed from her eyes, and her tiny little fists gathered up the blanket on the bunk in her hands. It was all she could do to hang on to something. His body pounded into her again and again, each time transfixing her upon his stiffened length. Each time lancing her with the searing pain. She didn't know how long it lasted, or when she became aware of the warm jet of thick creamy cum that he had left in her. She wasn't sure exactly when he left her there, still hanging over the foot board of the bed, limp and used, sore and crying. All she knew was that the pain was still there until long after.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In her sleep, the slight whimpers and moans punctuated her dream. She turned and twisted in the throes of the imagery until she was wrapped tightly in the blanket, restrained by it. By the time she jerked awake, startled and disoriented, she had moved close enough to Mir's outstretched leg to rest her head on it as a pillow if she'd wanted to.

She jerked from the imagery of her nightmare into wakeful awareness so suddenly that it left her still in her panicked state. She could not move, and fought against the restraint that held her. In her flailing, she bumped her head on the inside of Mir's knee and it jolted her awake. She recalled where she was and with whom in an instant, and immediately thought that he was trying to bind her for some nefarious purpose. Struggling even more vigorously only seemed to wind the blanket around her tighter still, until she realized the futility of her plight. By now she had rolled over, her arm pinned under her body, inside the blanket, and her head lying on the floor of the tent between Mir's two legs. She stopped struggling, heaving to catch her breath, and slowly turned her eyes upwards to his face.

Mir listened to her draw out the center of his name, but she seemed to understand it was his name so he’d roll with that. He was just happy they were communicating, accents could wait. When she squeaked in alarm at the blanket he tossed to her he couldn’t help but chuckle even as he reflected on what had her so jumpy. Did she think she was his prisoner? Did she think he was going to hurt her? Why was she that jumpy? What had been done to this girl that she assumed his only intent was to harm her?

Whatever had made he like this was a pity, he reflected. In his mind women weren’t to be abused. He had no compulsions against fighting women that took up arms against him, he had reflexively pulled his own knife when Spiriel had leapt at him with hers but as soon as she was disarmed and no longer a threat that was the end of it. He wasn’t a gentleman but there was nothing manly or honorable even by his standards about taking advantage of someone who couldn’t resist you even if they wanted to. That was just being a bully and if there was one thing Mir loathed it was bullies. Thankfully those that bullies picked on weren’t always poor and he could make a living.

He listened as Spiriel’s breathing slowed as she calmed down and eventually it fell into a gentle rhythm as she fell asleep. That made Mir smile. It was something, he’d fed her, given her water, shelter, and now a blanket and maybe some security to sleep. Maybe she trusted him, maybe she just realized she had no other options but for the moment. She was asleep and maybe he could think for a minute.

There was nothing wrong with his original plan. Go back to down and collect the bounty on the orcs, a gold piece per dead orc. Rest up a night or two then buy a good horse and start back off to the north. The ice giants were on the move and everyone up north was panicking, good money to be made in panic. The complication was the girl. What in the nine hells was he supposed to do with her? If it was someone else he’d just take her to town and turn her loose on her own. Spiriel was a drow though. If they ran into any other elves they’d probably just kill her outright, if she was lucky. Hell, there were plenty of humans or dwarves or other normally reasonable races who’d kill her on sight and no one would care except about the mess it made. That’s if she was lucky. If she wasn’t someone would take her as a slave. He could recall seeing a drow on the menu at a brothel in a big city. Twenty five gold pieces for just part of the night. Hell, a single gold piece would usually get you a room, food, drink, and the innkeepers daughter for the whole night. A girl like Spiriel would probably sell for a couple hundred, if not thousand gold coins. With that kind of cash he’d be set for a long time. New armor, a proper warhorse, hell maybe even a little estate in the countryside.

As quickly as that thought came up he quashed it. He didn’t deal in slaves and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, not with her. So what the hell could he do with her? The answer was quick and unpleasant. He’d have to keep her with him. Separate she was almost certainly dead. He’d have to keep her around until he could find a place for her, somewhere that she didn’t have to worry about someone slitting her throat just because they didn’t like her kind. Mir hated partners, even worse he hated dead weight. Not that there was a lot of weight to the girl. Gluttony was not a sin she’d be accused of any time soon.

All of that was the future, for now was the real, practical problem of how he’d even get into town with her. Her tunic wasn’t much and she couldn’t be staying warm in it. The days weren’t bitterly cold but they weren’t warm either. He reached back to his packs and rummaged a bit, finding what he was looking for, a hooded tabard he kept for when it rained. It was light gray and woolen, and unless he missed his mark it would probably cover her from shoulders to knees and the sleeves were long enough she could probably disappear into them. Add on the hood and the only part of her that would show would be her legs, and he didn’t have an answer for that. So he stuffed the tabard down beside him where he wouldn’t forget it and tried to get comfortable, it was going to be a long night.

And it was going to get even longer when he heard the little drow start to whimper and moan in her sleep. Terrified or not she certainly seemed to be enjoying her slumber. It was only when she got louder and started to toss in her blanket that he realized they weren’t happy whimpers and moans. Whatever excitement had been generated earlier gave way to concern as she began to thrash and then there was the sharp intake of breath that indicated she was awake.

And the thrashing got worse when she realized she was trapped. “Whoa, whoa, calm down,” Mir said. She probably had no clue what he was saying but he hoped the tone would work. “Just calm down,” he said reaching for her but the lithe young drow twisted away and in the dark he couldn’t see much beyond a writhing mass of blanket and occasional strands of silver hair. “Just calm down, you’re fine,” Mir said growing more exasperated. He was reaching for her again when she twisted and flopped down between his legs. There was just enough light in the tent for him to see her masses of silver hair and right below it her eyes looking up at him, directly between his legs, just inches from his codpiece where his manhood refused to behave itself after listening to her whimpers. ‘While you’re down there,’ his uncooperative subconscious supplied but he managed not to say anything. Her pretty face between his legs was not an unwelcome sight but at the same time...

“I told you to calm down,” he said sternly as he grabbed at the blanket, searching for an end. “There ain’t enough room in here for you to start flailing especially if we’re trying to HIDE,” he hissed the last word. He had his doubts about their being pursued but that was no reason to advertise their presence. He kept searching the blanket and occasionally felt much softer, smoother, more enjoyable parts of her anatomy beneath his fingers. He tried to behave himself but the feeling of a female body beneath his hands led to the occasional lingering hand or extra squeeze. In spite of her twisting and fighting he finally found an edge of the blanket and pulled, unrolling her out of it unceremoniously onto the floor of the tent. “You. Are. Fine,” he said calmly and sternly. He took the tabard he’d pulled out and wadded it up in a ball before tossing it to the opposite corner of the tent and pointing at it. “Sleep. Safe,” he jabbed his finger in the center of his breastplate. “Mir keep Spiriel safe.”

The dagger he’d been clutching in his lap before had been stuffed in his pack when he’d pulled the tabard out. Knife at the throat or not after watching her devour biscuits, comically mistrust him, have a nightmare, and get herself tangled in a blanket Mir couldn’t keep up the thought of her as an actual threat. The adrenaline and tension that had kept him up half the night just wasn’t staying with him now and his eyes were getting heavy.

She had stopped struggling only because she realized that her efforts were futile. She was really only winding herself up tighter. When she looked up at him, she cursed herself for her clumsiness. 'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!' she thought. Here she was trying to be cautious around this You-man and instead she practically delivers herself in his lap, all trussed up like a grub worm in a spider-silk cocoon, completely at his mercy.

As her eyes raised to his face, part of her was hoping against hope that he would help her out of her predicament. But why she had any reason to hope for that she didn't know. More likely he would take advantage of this to extract payment from her helpless body. His voice was stern and cut through her mental clutter, commanding her attention. She grew still, awaiting her fate. Could he really hurt her anymore than the Commander? She'd survived that; she would survive this as well.

Still, when he reached for her, she shrank back, a reflex action with no practical effect since she was so bound up in the blanket. Her breath caught in a little gasp, then held as his hands moved over her. At first she thought he was groping her in preparation to have his way with her body. But then she began to believe that he simply could not see in the dark as well as she and was feeling his way. The realization gave her the feeling of having an advantage, though she wasn't sure how she could exploit it. She filed the information away in her mind for future use.

But then his hands moved to more intimate places on her anatomy and she wasn't so sure it was because he was feeling his way in the dark. She virtually held her breath in anticipation, waiting to see just what he would do. That his hands lingered longer than necessary gave her cause to think this was it; this was the moment she would have to pay. A slight whimper slipped from her lips, but she did not resist him, letting him explore her body freely through the blanket.

She felt him turn her and reach under. He seemed to grab at something in the small of her back and then pull. Suddenly she was spinning away from him, rolling out of the blanket. It surprised her and she gave voice to a little squawk. He responded with his stern words, but his tone was calm. Something about his voice and tone communicated more to her than his words, and found resonance with something inside her.

“Sleep. Safe,” She understood his words, and his gesture towards the tabard he'd tossed in her corner was clear to understand. But what he said next cut through all her concern about his intentions. “Mir keep Spiriel safe.”

She paused, looking into his eyes, trying to read him. She'd understood the words, enough of them to know his meaning. She just couldn't believe he'd said them. No one had ever said those words to her before. Well, almost no one. As she moved into the corner, curling up on her side, but where she could rest her head on part of the rolled up tabard and pull the rest of it over herself to cover her, she made sure she could see him. She was quiet, contemplative. For a long time she just looked at him, this strange human male who'd had her at his mercy several times in the hours she'd known him, and yet had not offered to hurt her. Indeed he hadn't treated her any way but kindly, except for their first meeting. What kind of man was he?

But it was his tone of voice that had dredged loose a long forgotten memory from the depths of her mind, allowing it to slowly come to the surface of her consciousness. The memory was of another man, long ago when she was just a little girl. He had been kind to her. He had spoken to her sternly like that, but with calm tenderness as well. But her father had not been able to keep her safe. Not when They came for her.

Spiriel watched Mir and contemplated what sort of man he was for a long time after she lay down. The memory of her father gave her a source for comparison, and she began to wonder if Mir was like him.

After a while, she realized his breathing was deep and regular, suggesting he was asleep or nearly so. She made no move to disturb him. That is, not until she saw him shiver. He had given her the blanket and the tabard, and she was finally warm. But her comfort had come at his expense, she realized. He had given her many things, showed her many considerations since they'd met, and she'd been unable to even out the obligation. But maybe......

+++++++++++++++++

In the dim light of pre-dawn, she snuck past his outstretched form, now covered in the blanket she'd draped over him in the night. Slipping from the tent, she looked warily around, making sure no enemies were about before cautiously heading into the forest.

An hour later, she returned to the camp, cradling some pears in the hem of the tabard, now pulled up to her tummy to form a little carry pouch. Finding the pears had been lucky, and she brought back enough to offer to Mir as well as satisfy her own hunger and thirst. She quietly crept to the tent entrance, hoping to slip back inside as stealthily as she'd left. But the burden of holding the make shift pouch of pears with one hand proved to be more awkward than she thought and one of the oblong fruits slipped out, landing near Mir's foot. She knelt to retrieve it, mere inches from the warrior.

Mir had no clue how he’d gotten here but he wasn’t objecting. He was clean, he was in a big comfortable bed, he could smell a big piece of meat roasting, and three beautiful girls were crawling up the bed with a bunch of grapes in their teeth and nothing else. He couldn’t really process what they looked like, until they got closer and all three had silvery hair and coal black skin. They were just getting close when he felt something fall to the ground by his foot. On the ground, on the bed. A thump that was far more real than anything else in this dream.

Mir’s eyes snapped open as the dream dissipated before his eyes. His eyes locked with Spiriel’s where she was crouched by his foot, just coming back into the tent. He jerked upright and pushed open the flap looking outside. He saw nothing, just the soft light of morning. Spiriel had the tabard on and a bunch of pears in it. He flopped back down and picked up the pear. “Do not go out on your own,” Mir said. “I can’t protect you when you do.”

He took a bite of the pear and nodded at her. “Thank you. It’s good.” He motioned her in and pointed at her previous spot that night on the floor of the tent. He kept eating the pear, giving him something to do while he thought. He’d fallen asleep the previous night and had through some miracle managed to wake up this morning. He watched as Spiriel sat down and started to eat some of the pears as well. She hadn’t killed him in the night, and in fact she’d gone out to pick up something to eat besides biscuits. He dug a few of them out and set them between him and the drow girl along with his canteen. He finished off his pear and ate a biscuit.

He wondered how much she’d understand but he started in anyways. “We need to go to town. You're gonna have to put your hood up." He slowly leaned over and tugged on the hood of her tabard. "Not far. Spiriel stay close to Mir." He tried to think of what else he could explain but he didn't know how far her vocabulary stretched. Instead he settled for taking a second pear and eating it, finishing by tossing the core out and doing his best to smile. "Thank you."

He started to pack up his things to get ready for the trip, finally digging out the tent and rolling it up. He strapped on his weapons, slung his pack on his back, and started off. The morning itself was crisp and clear, beautiful even. He hoped the tabard would keep Spiriel warm but at the least it would keep her from freezing. If she wasn't warm she could spend the rest of the day in front of a fireplace once they got to town. He didn't head for the road, instead staying in the forest. The pool where Mir had found her fed a small stream that paralleled the road to town with about a mile between them. He hoped that by staying between the two they could avoid anyone hunting for her, and everyone else for that matter. He still had no idea how the locals would react to seeing a drow.

Just as her hand closed around the dropped pear, Mir's eyes snapped open. Spiriel met his gaze as a shy smile bowed her lips. Suddenly he sat up and it startled her. She fell backwards on her butt, dropping the pear as he looked out the tent flap. But she didn't move away, realizing that he only wanted to check that it was safe.

He gestured to the corner she had slept in, and she came inside the tent, unloading the pears from her tabard pouch, one by one, placing them on the tent floor between them. She waited until he had taken a bite, and then selected one of her own to eat, kneeling just across from him. He placed some of the biscuits between them next to the pears, taking one for himself. She took one also, repeating his earlier words. "Thank. Mir. Good. Eat." She offered another brief smile.

During the night she'd had time to think about him. As she'd watched him sleep, moving only once in the night to drape the blanket over his shoulders when she seemed cold, she'd thought a lot about him. This human was not like the stories that she'd been told of how the upper-worlders were supposed to be. He was not the cruel monster that the drow had portrayed. And by comparison with how they had treated her - one of their own kind - she had begun to wonder whether any of those tales had been true. Could it be that they had told such lies to keep the people afraid to go to the surface, the better to control them?

She wondered what would happen after they finished eating. Would he go on his own way, and she go hers? Would he allow her to leave? Would he want her to repay the kindness he'd shown her? Surely the food she'd brought had been payment for some of it. But would he want more?

And if she did go on her own way, would she meet others You-mans? Would they be as considerate as Mir? Maybe all the tales had been false. Maybe even the light-side Elves would not be as unkind as they were portrayed to be? Suddenly the whole world was in question. Everything she thought she knew could be wrong.

Mir spoke to her, and at first she didn't understand. He tugged on the hood of the clothing he'd given her in the night, and she nodded, her slender hands coming up to raise the hood. It was a deep cowl, the garment being much too large for her. And the hood completely covered her head, leaving her face in deep shadow. When she had first put on the tabard, the sleeves had hung down about 4 inches past her fingertips. She had gathered them up around her elbows to pick the pears, but with her hands at her sides, they would hang down again normally.

Mir took another of the juicy ripe fruits to eat, and she did the same. Afterwards she watched as he gathered his weapons and pack, then crawled out of the tent. She hastily gathered the remaining biscuits and pears, piling them in the blanket and bundling it up before crawling out after Mir. She didn't know when they would find more food, and what they had was precious.

As he cleared away the brush form the outside of the tent, she set down her precious bundle and touched his shoulder lightly. "Spiriel help. Mir keep Spiriel safe. Spiriel help Mir. Thank You-man." She began to help clear away the brush, then held his pack while he strapped on his weapons. With his pack and shield strapped to his back, Mir started off. Spiriel hoisted the blanket bundle of food, and slung it over her shoulder, then hurried to catch up to him. Her strides were not as long as his, and walking barefoot over the chilled ground of the morning wasn't easy. But as the sun rose higher in the sky, and they began to emerge from the range of hills to easier ground to traverse, she was able to keep up with the taller man.

Walking in the oversized tabard was providing it's own challenges. The sleeves hung past her hands, and the hood blocked her view. The hem of the garment fell to just below her knees, but her legs and feet were bare below that. And as the day grew warmer, she found it getting warmer in the dark shadows of the hood. It was not as bad as the sun burning her skin, but after a while she pushed the hood back off her face, trudging along behind the warrior.

The sun had moved past the nadir of the sky overhead, and had begun it's descent when they topped a rise and the city came into view. Spiriel stopped in her tracks. She'd never seen anything like it before. In the valley below was a ribbon of road that wound through the fields of ripe crops. A small wooden bridge crossed over a meandering stream about 30 feet across. And in the distance, the palisade walls of the town protected the community within. The spires of the buildings gleamed in the afternoon sun. The sight made her breath catch in her throat.

And the people....they were everywhere! A tremble of nervous apprehension ran down her spine, and it seemed as though her feet had become like lead. She glanced at Mir's broad back. The warrior was several paces ahead, and continuing down the slope. Her heart pounded under her breast, and she fought the urge to turn and flee back into the forest.

Her voice quivered as she stammered, "M-Mir? K-keep Spiriel safe?"

"M-Mir? K-keep Spiriel safe?"

Mir turned and looked at Spiriel and nodded. “I’ll keep you safe,” he said before he reached up and pulled the hood over her head. Though he wasn’t sure how. He started down the far side of the rise and angled towards the bridge, his long legs eating up the distance. The road was quiet, just a single mule drawn cart creaking down the road ahead of them. The town was quiet and Mir was happy for it, a big crowd would have lots of people jostling with Spiriel and seeing her The guards would have plenty of time to talk them over but he was planning on dealing with them anyways.

They made it to the road and started down it, tromping along until they reached the bridge, his own heavy footfalls echoing as his heavy boots hit the wood. The town’s walls weren’t that impressive, but the heavy logs that made them up were thick and sturdy enough to deflect anything short of a determined and extremely well equipped attack. The gatehouse at the end of the bridge was one of the few stone parts of the walls and just inside it, standing in the shade, were two of the town’s men at arms, both of them looking supremely bored. Mir walked up to them with Spiriel close behind. He plucked the pouch full of orc teeth from his belt and held it up. “I need to talk to your captain.”

One of the men jerked his thumb towards a small door in the gatehouse and Mir beckoned Spiriel on as he went into the small office beyond. Inside was a simple wooden desk with a chair behind it and an older, more rotund man at arms sitting at it. Around the perimeter of the room were racks full of weapons and shields. Mir approached the desk and dropped his pouch on the table, spilling a few teeth on the table. The commander at the desk looked up. “You’re back already? Figured we wouldn’t see you for a while more, if at all.” He looked at the pouch and picked through it before dumping the contents out and starting to sort them.

“Thirty two,” Mir offered but the commander just grunted and kept sorting them.

“Thirty two,” the commander said. He turned his back to them and went to a small chest off to one side, opening a lock on the front and starting to count out gold coins from the bag inside. Satisfied with the count he turned back and dumped the coins in the bag that had previously held the teeth. “Thirty two coins.” He looked over at Spiriel where she stood, trying not to be noticed. “Who’s that?”

Mir glanced back at Spiriel then shrugged. “Porter.”

The commander laughed. “Really, how much can she carry?”

“I didn’t pick her up for the strength of her back.”

The man snorted again. “You looking for more work?”

“No, just want to get on, keep moving north.”

“Then make sure you’re out of here in three days, no more,” the commander warned.

“Sure,” Mir said, ignoring him for the most part. He hadn’t met a city guard yet who was happy to see him, unless they were being attacked. He didn’t plan on staying any longer than that anyway. He stuffed the pouch under his armor out of the way then motioned for Spiriel to follow.

The main drag of the town was a cobblestone street that was well used with shops on either side with people bustling up and down it. He could see stalls with food farther down but he wasn’t interested, not yet. Instead as soon as they were inside the walls he turned to the right down a smaller dirt street. They were walking down this street towards the local inns. He passed right by the first one, it was the kind that got regular travelers who didn’t know better or just didn’t care that it cost a fortune. Instead he kept on walking, heading towards the inn he scoped out the last time he was in town.

Unfortunately Spiriel wasn’t going unnoticed. Mir could see people starting to eye the shrouded girl walking with him, some of them maybe picking out that her feet weren’t dirty from the road but black naturally. Mir slowed down and motioned her closer to him, his eyes starting to track around and take closer note of those that were paying attention to them. When they arrived at the inn Mir wrapped his arm around Spiriel’s shoulder and lead her up the short stairs and inside.

The inn was bustling inside, the lower floor was just a large open dining hall with a bar on one side. All the tables were full of men, and a few women, like Mir, well armed and armored with a wide array of tools and personal effects. Just a quick cursory glance around let Mir spot several elves, some dwarves, and other scattered races. He headed for the bar where a portly innkeeper was serving drinks and food while serving girls moved them to the tables. Mir signaled him and after a moment he came over. Mir pulled out a single gold coin and he could see the quick widening of the man’s eyes. “I want a room, a bath, someone to wash my clothes, drink, and food.” He thumped the coin down on bar but didn’t let it go when the innkeep reached for it. “And no questions.” The innkeeper’s eyes flicked towards the shrouded Spiriel then back to Mir and down to the coin before nodding.

“Of course. Need any company?”

“Just silence,” Mir said.

The innkeeper nodded and turned away to take care of things and Mir was turning back to Spiriel when movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention. “Well what’s hiding under here?” the swarthy looking man in tight leathers with multiple daggers strapped to his belt said as he reached up and snatched the hood off Spiriel’s head.

Even as Spiriel’s bright silvery hair was flying up Mir’s hand was snapping out to grab the man’s wrist. He twisted hard, breaking the rogue’s grip on Spiriel’s hood as his leg kicked out and caught the man in the back of the knee making it give out and dropping the rogue into a crouch, the proper height for Mir’s other hand to grab the back of his head and smash his face into the edge of the bar. Even as the rogue was going down howling at his smashed nose Mir was spinning in place scanning the room. Half those present were looking their way, some at Mir, some at the rogue, but many at Spiriel. She was grasping at the hood as Mir grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her towards the stairs, his hand sitting on the hilt of his sword in a clear warning.

The innkeeper was coming up behind them sputtering and Mir cut him off. “I’m already overpaying for the room, take it out of the coin,” he snarled as he took the key from the innkeeper and follow him up to the room.

“This is the last room we’ve got, and after that mess in the hall you’re not going to get much privacy.”

Mir grunted and waved him away, unlocking the door and pushing Spiriel inside, following after her quickly before slamming the door, locking it, and grabbing a chair to jam in the way. “God’s DAMN IT!” Mir snapped. One touchy rogue and now an entire inn full of sell swords knew he had a drow in this room. He started to unload, casting his equipment in the corner as he fumed.

The room itself was fairly nice, a full sized bed, clean bedding, a couple chairs, a table, a fireplace, and even a small washroom. Mir reflected that maybe he hadn’t overpaid all that much. He was still fuming as he remembered Spiriel and wondered how she’d taken all this.

Mir's reassurance gave her the heart to go on. She gave a shy smile as he pulled her hood up again, and then hastened to keep up with his long strides. The dust of the road soon coated her bare feet, lightening her dark skin, but it was not enough to disguise them.

As they drew closer to the town, her eyes wandered over the imposing tower at the gate. It was a little like entering a cave of the Underdark, passing through the gate, and she tried to stay closer to Mir. There were people everywhere! All kinds of people. The sights and sounds and smells were almost overwhelming. She tried to remember to keep her head down, so that the hood would hide her, but couldn't help sneaking peeks at the many amazing sights she'd never seen before.

She didn't really notice the stares she was beginning to draw in return, distracted as she was with all there was to see. But when Mir slipped an arm around her shoulders and hastened her into the building they'd come to, she sensed his caution, reading the concern in his expression as she glanced up into his face. His strong arm around her kept her moving and kept her close, and most of all, gave her a feeling of safety. Odd that only a day before, this human had been the danger she'd faced.

Inside the inn, her eyes caught the dimmer light, reflecting it back, making her eyes appear reddish under her hood. She kept her head down, staying close to Mir. The sense of his nervousness was almost palpable to her. Suddenly a strong tug at the back of her head tore her hood away, her silky white hair erupting from the depths of the shroud like a fan. She gasped aloud, at once trying to grab at the blanket bundle containing their food to prevent dropping it, and also trying to snatch the hood back up around her head.

Chaos exploded around her as Mir dealt violently with the other human who had grabbed her. In that moment of exposure, her eyes took in the scenes and impressions of the common room of the inn. The glitter of ice cold stares of hard eyes turned her way, dark mutterings and curses even she could understand, and the sudden tang of bloodsmell erupting from the man's fountaining smashed nose, followed by the terrible silence that descended on the room.

She grabbed at the hood, trying to cover herself again. Mir's hand locked around her wrist and pulled her along quickly from the room, the hood forgotten and her silky white hair streaming behind her like a banner. Another man came after them, catching up to them in the hall, and Mir seemed angry as he snatched a key from the man and opened one of the doors in the hall. He shoved her through the door into the room, and she knew then who we was angry with.

She moved deeper into the room, to the corner, out of defensive instinct. She could make herself small there, sink into the shadows, perhaps go unnoticed in his anger. Her eyes widened as he barred and locked the door, then divested himself of his weapons and gear. His movements betrayed his annoyance, and she flinched when he shouted, as if struck a physical blow.

She trembled, afraid of his anger at her. She knew he had wanted her to stay hidden, but now lots of people had seen her with him. She would feel his wrath, no doubt. But was it too late to mollify his upset?

Gathering her courage, she approached him hesitantly. She paused when he turned and his gaze fell upon her. Slowly she lowered the blanket bundle of food to the floor, and held out both hands, palm outwards in a placating gesture. She spoke softly, making reassuring noises. "Ssss, ssss, okay, Mir. Hide. Safe. Warm...." She approached him slowly until she could reach out and touch him, her slender dark hands moving over his chest in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

She gently pushed him to the bed. She couldn't move him by strength of course, but didn't try to be forceful, only guiding. She wanted to express that she was sorry for letting herself be seen, but she didn't know the words to use. So she let her facial expression show her regret, looking into his eyes, her delicate white brows arched. She reached up to touch his cheek gently, hoping to soothe. And when they had neared the bed, she patted it with her hand, inviting him to sit. Slipping behind him, she began to rub his shoulders. It was ineffective through his armor, but she kept trying.

She could feel the tension in his muscles, and somehow the words he had spoken to her after her nightmare came back to her. She hadn't known what they meant at the time, but his tone had been low and soothing, just like hers was now. She tried to repeat them as best she could remember them as her thumbs worked at loosening the muscle tension in his neck. "Just kahm don. Wowo, kahm don." She hoped it was working to make him less angry towards her. Sometimes in the temple, the needs of those who came to her could be assuaged by this kind of touching and rubbing. Sometimes they wanted nothing more. Maybe Mir would want this.

Mir’s countenance fell when he saw the worry on Spiriel’s face. She had no idea why he was angry at and from how she was looking at him he suspected she thought he was mad at her. He took a long deep breath, filling his lungs before letting it out in a slow, shudderung exhale trying to let his tension go with it.

Spiriel came towards him, palms out and cooing, trying to mollify him. He forced himself to relax, for her sake, so when she touched his chest and guided him towards the bed he went without complaint. He was still furious but his anger was frightening his companion. There was nothing he could with his anger regardless, he'd punished the imbecile who'd put them in this situation so what was left?

When her graceful hand touched his scruffy face he saw the look in her eyes, her apology, and he nodded. "Spiriel safe. Mir...," he hesitated, "... not angry with you."

When her nimble little fingers began to work on his shoulders he focused on relaxing. Her words were cute, and actually understandable, she was doing better mimicking his language then he thought he could ever do with hers. Anytime he'd tried to speak any elven language he'd wound up tying his tongue in knots. Her efforts were largely wasted since she was working through layers of steel and leather but he made note to see if he couldn't get her to do it again. When she moved to his neck he knew he would be asking for it at some point as her small thumbs started to work the tension from his neck. He was just starting to get good and relaxed when there was a loud knock at the door.

Mir grumbled under his breath at the intrusion as he got up from the bed and stomped to the door. He worked the chair out from under the handle and set it aside before unlocking the door and peeking around the edge. Outside was just a serving girl and the innkeeper, the first looking very nervous and the second very annoyed. He swung the door open and motioned them both in before shutting it, and locking it, behind them.

The serving girl went right for the table, dropping a tray on it loaded with food. A side of roast, well spiced, a pair of game birds roasted as well, vegetables and some local fruit along with a loaf of dark bread. As she set everything out the girl kept stealing glances Spiriel’s way. Finally she set out two plates, goblets, and utensils before leaving.

In the mean time the innkeeper was glaring at Mir. "I don't like trouble makers," the portly man snapped.

"Then talk to the damned fool who touched her."

"I would if he could speak," the innkeep fired back. "he's passed out on the floor of my bar bleeding from what's left of his mouth. I wouldn't like someone touching my slave girl either but have some restraint! Besides, slave or not I don't like that thing I my inn"

"I'm paying for a room, not your opinion," Mir growled.

The serving girl returned with a small wash tub, just big enough for Mir to kneel in, and sat it in the corner before taking a small pitcher and starting to fill it. The pitcher was obviously enchanted as it was able to fill the tub with steaming water before the girl took it away and set out some soap and towels.

"Just keep that thing in here," the innkeeper responded. "You pull that again and you're gone no matter how much you've got in your purse."

"Fine, but find me a seamstress, my drow needs some clothes."

"It's late."

Mir retrieved another coin and snapped it in half along a crease. "Find me one."

The innkeeper looked at the half coin then made it disappear into his apron. "Leave your clothes outside the door, my girls will wash them and have them back in the morning."

Mir nodded and the man and the serving girl left. Mir locked the door behind them and jammed the chair back against it. He went back to work getting rid of his armor. His gaze went back to Spiriel on the bed and he gestured towards the food and steaming tub. "Eat, wash."

Spiriel smiled to herself as she began to feel Mir's tension relax a little. She hadn't forgotten her skills as a courtesan, massage being just one of them. Of course a true courtesan would have been paid well for such services. But any pay for the services Spiriel rendered went to the temple clergy, who kept her in exchange. And they certainly didn't spend much of it on her keep.

Still, it gave her a sense of satisfaction that she had found something she could do for Mir to settle the obligation for the things he had given her, the clothes, food, and protection. Maybe she could bargain her skills for his help after all. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad as what she'd been used to before. Mir had treated her decently. He didn't seem to be as bad as the stories made You-mans out to be....at least not to her. That fellow at the bar who had grabbed her hood didn't fare so well.

But Mir had assured her he wasn't angry with her, and she felt better about it. Now her massage wasn't about easing his anger at her, it was simply about doing something for him, giving a little of the consideration back that he had shown to her. She realized it made her feel good about doing it too.

The sudden loud knock startled her and she jerked her hands away guiltily, as if she'd been doing something she shouldn't have been. Mir's anger seemed to come back in an instant as he stalked to the door, opening it to see who was there. Spiriel shrank back on the bed, trying to make herself smaller and go unnoticed when the other two humans came into the room. Even though they'd seen her, she slowly pulled the hood back up over her head.

The female kept looking at her as she set out the food, enough for a feast, and Spiriel wondered if the girl, too, was a slave. The slender drow let her silvery eyes roam over the dress and form of the human woman's body, watching as she poured the bath. She found herself feeling pangs of jealousy, and didn't know why. That the food and bath were meant for Mir was obvious, but why should Spiriel care if he had some other slave girl take care of him. Hadn't she just fled her home to escape that life?

The man's voice was angry, and so was Mir's, drawing her attention from the girl. She was learning the cadence and rhythms of the human common tongue the more she heard it spoken, and was now able to pick out certain words that she could recognize. More and more of the words that she had known once before were coming back to her. She listened carefully as Mir talked to the angry fat man. From deep under the hood, her brow furrowed at the words she heard exchanged.

When the two humans left them alone again, Mir locked and bolted the door as before. Spiriel remained still on the bed, her head tilted slightly to one side, regarding him from under the cowl of the tabard. Her mind was working to process the meaning of the few words she had understood. But beneath what seemed to be her calm exterior demeanor, her heart was beating forcefully and her belly was a knot of tension.

Was this how it was going to be between them? Why else had Mir allowed the other slave girl to leave, unless it was because he had his own? She'd heard the fat man say so; had picked out the words 'slave girl' from his speech, and his gesture indicated her when he'd said it. Was that why Mir had hurt the other man? Was that other man trying to take her away from him? If so, he had fought to keep her. Why would he do that unless he believed she was his?

The thought of it tied her stomach in knots. On the one hand, she had been trying to escape that kind of life. But Mir had not treated her badly. Quite the opposite, he had treated her better than she thought he would, and she knew some would say it was better than she deserved. But she'd heard him say it: 'My drow'. Suddenly it was all clear to her. He had captured her and taken her knife way. He had only taken care of her after that because she belonged to him.

Her breathing quickened. If he felt that way about her, then it really was only a matter of time until he would use her, like they all did. But would it be so bad to serve him? Perhaps not, if he kept her all to himself. He didn't seem like such a bad sort. But would he give her to others who may not be as decent? Would he make her do things to them, and let them hurt her? He had promised to keep her safe. And he had done so up until now. Maybe she should trust him.

Her thoughts were in turmoil, distracting her so that she didn't notice him begin to take off his armor, but his words caught her attention, pulling her out of her reverie. "Eat. Wash." he told her. It was a command, plain and simple. But for the first time in her life, she thought of refusing. She might be his slave girl, his drow, but maybe she could have some control of how she would be.

Instead of obeying mindlessly, she moved closer to him instead and began to help him unfasten his armor, helping off with each piece. At his questioning look, she looked into his eyes and spoke quietly, calmly. "Mir pay gold. Mir wash, eat. Then Spiriel." He seemed about to protest, so she hurriedly continued. "Mir is warrior....soldier. Spiriel is....sla...." she hesitated, unable to bring herself to say it, and shook her head slightly, lowering her eyes. "Spiriel is....drow. Not warrior. Help...helper. Spiriel help Mir warrior. Mir warrior keep Spiriel safe. Is right. Then Spiriel wash, eat."

She had continued assisting him as she spoke, and now her slender nimble fingers worked at the lacing of his tunic. The ebony digits trembled slightly as they plucked at the lacing strings, affected by the intense feeling inside her at making this decision. She hoped she would not have cause to regret it. She hoped Mir would treat her better than her former masters.

Mir saw the queer look on Spiriel’s face when he turned back to her. He thought that it must have something to do with the innkeeper. Maybe she was nervous around him or just other humans. After what had happened down at the bar he supposed she could still be a little concerned around other people. She kept looking back to the serving girl and there was something about her look he couldn’t place. Except the look didn’t pass when they left, and it only got worse. Something was clearly bothering her but he had no idea what it could be. They had a comfortable room, plenty of food, drink, even a warm bath. Hell, the door was now shut and barred just as it had been before, but there was that look.

“Spiriel,” he uttered in a voice of concern when she didn’t respond to the tub or the food but the girl instead slipped from the bed and began to undo his armor. Truth be told he didn’t mind the help, his armor could take a bit of time to don and doff, and he didn’t mind being in close proximity to the comely elf but the look she was giving him as she did it made him wonder why. After how she’d devoured the little food she’d been given in the woods he’d expected her to attack the food they were brought with equal fervor. Since he’d interrupted her bath in the woods she’d want a proper hot one. She’d just looked at him after he’d told her to wash and eat.

Instead she began to explain her actions and he listened, not sure of how to react. She was definitely speaking more clearly and he was jealous of her ability to communicate so well in his language when her name was the only thing drow he could even begin to speak. There was that tone, that way of talking though. The assumption that he was the warrior, he’d paid for it, so he got first crack at it all. In a way it made perfect sense on some levels. Mir’s experience with women since he’d come of age had been in two flavors, female adventurers who were usually pretty rough and tumble and who by their own nature tended to be less lady-like than the norm. They occupied a normally male role in society so it was normal to treat them more like men. Eat at the same time, whoever gets to the bath first gets it, that sort of thing. The other flavor were women he’d paid for their company. In those cases he was a customer and there wasn’t a real need to be a gentleman. He was paying for the night so of course he would go first. He wasn’t a boor, he’d happily share a meal and a tub with them and when it came time to have his pleasure with them he tried to make it enjoyable for everyone but in the end he’d paid so he came first.

But Spiriel didn’t fit either of those molds. She wasn’t a fighter, he didn’t think, and he’d never paid for her company, just volunteering his protection. Which made her... he didn’t really know. Mir’s parents hadn’t been high class, strictly middle of the road. His father had been a cobbler and his mother a baker. His mother had known her place but at the same time his father had been kind to her as he could, often giving her first pick of things. He’d given his son advice on wooing women and how to treat them that at the time had gone right through his head like so much his father had tried to teach him. Only now was that advice coming back. Spiriel wasn’t some warrior companion to treat like a man, and she wasn’t his woman for the night which meant... well she should go first. That was the right way for a man to act with a lady. Wasn’t it? He tried to remember his half forgotten father’s lessons but that did seem to be how it should be done.

Except she was acting more like he’d paid for her services for the night. Was that what she was used to? Her dress, the knife, her being on the surface period, was she an escaped slave? That would make sense. It would also make it very easy to just take her for his own. Her lovely black throat would look so nice with a collar around it. Mir quickly tried to banish that thought from his mind. He didn’t like slavers and he didn’t take slaves. It was a quick way to make a buck but he prefered to be poor and sleep well. No matter how enticing such a wicked thought would be with her. After all, what was he going to do with her? He couldn’t just let her wander off in the town, she wouldn’t last an hour before she’d be dead or someone else would be doing far worse to her than he could ever imagine. Even if he took her from here where could he take her? The elves loathed her kind, drow were the only elves not allowed on Evermeet so he’d heard. No one trusted drow either and she didn’t have the skills to take care of herself that he’d seen. So what difference would it make in the long run? After all he was pretending she was his slave for the sake of uncomfortable questions so a collar would help with the deception. And just like that his own thoughts had betrayed him. He stomped them down and focused on his armor, all it really took was one slip up to start down a bad path.

He pulled his chestplate and shoulder armor off and set it aside as she undid the last strap. It had taken half as long as it normally would and for that he was grateful. Keeping her around wouldn’t really be that much of an imposition he considered. Help with his armor, some actual company, and she was quite beautiful to look at. He’d have to make sure she was fed and taken care of but it wouldn’t really be that much of a burden. At least in the short term.

Her nimble fingers rapidly unlaced the mail and leather’s on his torso and he was able to be rid of the rest of them quickly reducing him to just the light silk tunic he wore under it all. The tunic’s lack of sleeves revealed more of his skin to her eyes. The same ruddy color as the rest of him and covered in scars and old wounds. The dark hair that lightly covered his arms was patchy and uneven from where those scars had torn into his skin. When she started in on his pants as she finished her explanation he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back firmly.

“You,” he said as he tapped her on the shoulder, “are a helper, you help me,” he patted his chest. But that didn’t seem to dissuade her and soon his greaves and legplates joined the rest of armor as did the few bits of mail he wore down there. However when her fingers started in on the laces of his leather breeches he pushed her away again. The last thing the girl needed was to see the effect she was having on him. Her work on his shoulders, the feel of her tiny fingers working his armor, it all felt nice, very nice. Maybe a little too nice. His own dark thoughts hadn’t helped things in the least. He could already feel himself straining his breeches and since he was only wearing thin silk shorts under it all there wouldn’t be anything to contain him if she succeeded.

“The bath,” he pointed towards the tub, “is hot. You,” he poked her shoulder, “wash. The water is hot. Enjoy it.” Maybe she could compromise. “I,” again he gestured to himself, “will eat. When you are finished, we switch,” he twisted his fingers trying to pantomime switching. He hoped she’d accept the compromise and give him enough time to calm down before he got rid of his breeches and took his bath.

All of which began to dawn on him how he was following his own rituals, and not ones that included a drow girl in them. He had a change of clothes in his pack. Just some simple cotton breeches and a shirt. Enough to last until he got the rest of his clothes laundered, but that was it. What would she wear after her bath? And when she took it, well there were no privacy screens in the room. He toyed with the idea of leaving while she bathed, but that would mean redonning all his armor and he was loathe to put it all back on again. He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was not prepared or equipped for any of this. Still, maybe he could make it work. He rose and fetched his pack, pulling out the reasonably clean change of clothes there-in. He kept the breeches for himself but laid the shirt out for her. “You, shirt, after bath,” he said. He waved the breeches. “Mine. We’ll get someone to make you more clothes, proper clothes.”

The he went back to the table and turned the chair to face away from the bath and towards the window into the room before sitting down. “I won’t watch,” he said, “You wash.” Maybe she’d get it, and he hoped she would. It was getting difficult to behave himself. The last time he’d been with a woman had been weeks ago.

“You’re safe,” he assured her. He could easily keep her safe from other people, and he would. He just hoped he’d sort out his own feelings before someone had to protect her from him.

It confused her when he pushed her away. How as she supposed to help him get undressed? Surely he didn't intend to bathe with his pants on. She moved in to try again, sure that she had misunderstood Maybe she wasn't doing something right, and he was trying to teach her a lesson. Her fingers found the lacings of his breeches and deftly began to tug them loose. But again, he stopped her, pushing her back. Mir seemed agitated about something. Whatever it was she was doing was not pleasing him as it should. Probably you-mans had their own way of doing things, and she'd have to learn how to do it right.

She glanced up at his face, meeting his eyes, and concentrated on listening to his words, so she could try to understand. Her head tilted slightly to one side as she listened. He made it clear with words and gestures that he still wanted her to bathe first, and suddenly it dawned on her what the problem must be. He did not want her touching him because he thought she was dirty!

How could she have overlooked something so basic? Naturally he wouldn't want to soil himself with her in her present state. She hung her head, blushing with embarrassment, though no one could tell it, and nodded her understanding. Moving to the small tub of water, she hesitated a moment, watching as he searched through his pack. He brought her one of his own shirts, and made her understand that she was to wear it after she was clean. Without further hesitation, she bent to capture the hem of the tabard in her hands, stripping it up and over her head.

But it got caught up with her own tunic underneath, and the hood part tangled around her neck and hair. It turned partly inside out, twisting around her arms over her head, and making the hem of her tunic ride up as well. She struggled to get free of the entanglement, bending and turning in an odd little dance of wriggling and contortion, emphasized by little grunts of effort coming from within the clothes.

At last she bent at the waist, gradually working the clothing over her head and down her arms with the help of gravity. As she stood, she was facing away from Mir's seat at the table, and the tangle of the clothing made the hem of her tunic to slip up the backside of her thighs, high enough to reveal the shapely undercurve of her butt before she finally freed herself. She stood back up with an exasperated sigh, and sheepishly glanced over to where Mir sat hoping she hadn't looked like a fool getting trapped in her clothing. She hastily untangled the two garments from each other and draped each of them over the foot board of the bed.
Without further mishap, she managed to step into the small tub. She knelt down in it, sighing in pleasure at the feeling of the hot water. By cupping some in her hands, she was able to pour it over her body and head, rinsing away the dust of the road. Taking up a small cloth and the soap, she performed her ablutions, even washing her silky hair.

Spiriel was not blessed with the glamour of the upper class of drow women. She was more the average girl; pretty, slender build, long silky hair, and a shapely form, but not like a princess or a queen. She had no expensive jewelry to adorn her, nor make up to enhance her features. She was simply a young woman, ripe in the blush of her youth, wholesome looking, despite the hard life she'd lived and the use they had put her to.

Her slender hands glided over her curves, bringing the hot water up to cascade down over her breasts. She was well developed, not as large, perhaps, as some buxom women, but for her slender frame she was fairly well blessed. Her waist flared out into feminine hips, then down to sleek thighs, toned but not overtly muscled. She had enough flesh to round off the sharp edges, but still was slightly undernourished. Beneath the swell of her breasts, her abdomen held the slightest curve outward before descending into the vee of her groin. Her pelvic girdle framed the delta region marked by her navel at the top, over to each hip bone, and down each side of the mound of her sex.

Unlike the females of most races, her vulva was not bifurcated by the labia; rather her abdomen continued down between her legs in a vee shaped over-lap, like a single 'lip' shaped like a turtle's beak. This protective 'lip' covered the entrance to her sex, and the nerve center of her clitoris was just on the underside of it. Her mound was bare of pubic hair, but underneath, behind the entrance to her sex, was a small patch of fine, almost fur-like pubic thatch. The soft ivory colored patch had the consistency of rabbit fur, and served to wick the natural secretions of two lubricating glands just under her skin between her anus and vaginal opening. These secretions would thoroughly coat the male member on its approach from behind, and the 'lip' would help to guide the male inside during copulation.

She made sure to wash herself thoroughly, standing up in the little tub to wash down her legs, each in turn. Her dark skin was sleek when wet, shining in the candle light from the room's lamps. When she finished, she stepped out, reaching for a large towel and holding it against her front to preserve her modesty as she dried herself.



She couldn't help glancing back over her shoulder to see if Mir was watching her as she crossed to the bed to pull on the shirt he had offered her. On him, it would no doubt have hung to his hips, or slightly below. But on her, the hem came to just below the curve of her butt, about four inches lower. The sleeves were too long, and baggy on her frame, and the neckline showed an enticing hint of her cleavage. But it was something to wear, and he had instructed her to wear it.

Maybe this was how he wanted her to dress for him, Spiriel thought. She stood in front of him, holding her arms out from her sides, turning once to let him see, then waited to find out if he approved.

Mir was relieved when Spiriel seemed to understand what he was getting at and gave up on his breeches. She was much faster with the laces than he was and given a few more seconds she’d have been pulling them down and getting a rude surprise. Instead she listened intently and even seemed to get what he was after when he presented her with the shirt he was giving her to wear. She looked embarrassed but he figured that was just from having to bathe with him in the room. He’d have to remember to get a privacy screen or something in the future. His relief evaporated when she reached down to pull off the tabard and brought the tunic with it. He sputtered and fidgeted, torn between an impulse to enjoy the show and to give her her privacy.

His second impulse won out and he hastily took his seat at the table putting his back to her. By now he was happy the laces of his breeches had been loosened because even loosened they were getting uncomfortably tight. He’d managed to look away quickly, but not before confirming that she was black all over. When he’d first heard drow described he’s had an image of an inky elf shaped blob but the reality was pleasantly different. She was dark as coal dust but with shades and hues of gray that suited her dark complexion, suited it very well from what he’d seen. He tried to put those thoughts to rest by piling his simple brown crockery plate with food but Spiriel’s grunts and noises weren’t making it easy, not at all. He knew she was just getting out of her clothes but at the same time his imagination was feeding him an entirely different context for those noises that involved the bed. He huffed and took up a knife, slicing off a hunk of the roast and biting into it, filling his mouth with a the juicy, well spiced meat. He mindlessly scooped up some vegetables and shoved them into his mouth before tearing off a hunk of bread and eating it. He was almost able to focus on eating the dinner when he heard the sound of falling water.

The sudden surge from his groin compelled him to look. There was a beautiful naked woman in his room and she was bathing. He adored watching a woman bathe, the way the water would flow over their skin, making them shiny and smelling good. His knuckles were white where he gripped the knife as he idly wondered what Spiriel would look like with water running down her body, tracing every curve, dripping off each prominent peak.

When the plate cracked under the pressure of his knife Mir started in surprise. He looked down at the broken plate before grabbing the few chunks of broken stoneware and flinging them into the fireplace while grumbling. This kind of self denial wasn’t required in these situations, not usually, not for him. In fact he’d have turned his seat around and watched. Instead he gave up on the plates and just cut or ate whatever he wanted out of the serving dishes, trying to ignore what every nerve in his body wanted him to do. ‘Just a little turn, just a quick peek,’ it told him. That’s all it took though, the first temptation surrendered to, the first base call answered. They were never the last. So instead he ate, focusing on the mechanical aspects of refueling his body after so long subsisting on whatever he could find, catch, or brought with him. In two days they’d have to be back out on the road so he may as well enjoy the moment.

From her tub Spiriel had free view of Mir’s back which was just like the rest of him, dark ruddy skin of long hours spent laboring under the sun covering thick muscles earned from years of carrying packs that weighed twice what she did, soaking wet. A network of scars, some fresh and pink, but many older and faded.

He heard the cascade of water and wet step out onto the floor that signaled the end of her bath. He’d eaten enough to take his hunger off and Mir meant to have some more but whatever warmth was left in the water he wanted to enjoy. The sun was starting to go down and he could feel a cool draft from the window. Even with the fireplace it would be another cold night. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and say light red cotton as well as black skin so it would be safe to look.

Should have been safe. It wasn’t. While on him the shirt was just fine, on Spiriel it wasn’t. It covered her chest but the open collar left quite a bit of her cleavage on display and the hem of it barely covered her down below. In fact when she raised her arms and turned around he was treated to the site of the bottom curve of her rump. Mir numbly nodded, “Good, eat,” he said gesturing towards the food on the table. There was still plenty to eat and he suspected she needed it. He tried not to stare at her too much because she was looking much tastier than anything sitting on the table.

He stood up and headed for the tub, ensuring that his back was to the table, there was no need to concern her with the site of him naked and the proof of his interest in her. The tub was just large enough to kneel in for him and he quickly got down to the business of getting clean. It had been weeks since his last bath and he was eager to get the grime off. It took most of the bar of soap and what heat the tub had left but soon enough he felt he was presentable, and even his hair was washed. The simple, repetitive, mindless task of washing his body had let Mir calm down and when he rose and dried himself off he wasn’t aroused, only a bit firmer than normal. He was strictly average for a human, a bit thicker than most he’d gathered but nothing amazing. What he did have was quickly tucked away in his clean shorts as he pulled them on. He gathered up his own clothes, leathers, and what Spiriel had worn and dumped them in a small burlap bag the serving girl had left behind for this and deposited it outside their door before locking it tightly.

With his body taken care of and the basics served Mir took a moment to stretch and groan happily at the feeling of being out of his armor and in relative comfort for the moment.

“Good, eat.”

She smiled at his approval, but tilted her head to one side in perplexity at his insistence that she eat right away. Wouldn't he want her to help bathe him? That was usually part of it. And she was clean and fresh now; surely no longer offensive.

"Mir wash? Spiriel help?" she asked curiously as he stood and headed for the tub. She started to follow him, prepared to help him undress and assist in bathing him, but he stopped her with a glance, gesturing to the food instead. Reluctantly she went back, unsure if this was how it was supposed to be if she was going to be his 'helper'. If he wouldn’t let her do the ordinary things to ‘earn’ his protection, then it must be because he intended to make her pay in another way.

Still, she was hungry, and the feast laid out before her on the table was a veritable banquet compared to anything she'd ever been allowed before. The greatest delicacy was the meat. There wasn't a lot of room in the Underdark for cattle. She sat sideways on the chair Mir had used, not bothering to turn it around. Facing the table, she could see him as he bathed, but the food in front of her and the thoughts that filled her kept her mostly distracted. Mostly.

But she did glance over at him as she chewed thoughtfully on a piece of the roast. Mir was a large man compared to drow males. At first she’d thought it was just because he was a you-man. The tales she had been told often portrayed them as larger and heavier than the drow. But since arriving in this town and seeing him around other you-mans, she had determined that he was even taller than most of them. He was not as thick in the middle as the angry fat man had been, but Mir was muscular, as a warrior should be.

She noted the scars on his tanned skin, but they did not seem out of place. Each one bore the evidence of some wound he had no doubt sustained in a fight. But that was to be expected of a warrior. To Spiriel, the fact that he bore scars and was alive attested to the greatness of his skill, not the lack of it. An untouched warrior was an untested warrior, not necessarily a good one.

Her silvery eyes wandered over his physique, noting the powerful hips, muscled thighs, and corded arms. His tanned skin gave him the look of a bronze statue, and she felt a little sense of admiration. If she had to serve a master, it could have been much worse. As her eyes roamed over his body, he rose and turned slightly, giving her a glimpse of his manhood. Her eyes widened. She stopped chewing, and swallowed hard, gulping as a flutter at her core seemed to make her stomach flip over.

He was large, much thicker than a drow male, and likely would be longer too when he was aroused. She turned away quickly, tearing her eyes from the sight. A shiver ran up her spine, and her primary thought was how it would hurt her if he decided to take her for his pleasure the way the commander had. Apprehension gripped her, turning the food in her belly into an unwelcome presence. Her nervous thoughts were frantic and scrambled. What would she do? How could she resist him? Surely when he finished bathing, he would be ready to use her for his pleasure.

Her eyes fell upon the knife used to cut the roast. It was small, but would be sharp. Her fingers moved surreptitiously across the table until they covered the handle. She thought about taking it, but where would she hide it? Mir’s shirt had no place for concealment. Besides, she’d seen how strong he was, how quickly he could react. Visions of the bloody mess that was left of the man in the common room swam before her vision. It would be folly to attack him, even in self-defense. At most she would only anger him, and then he would beat her, perhaps kill her for her audacity and insolence. No, that was not the way. And how could she repay the kindness he’d shown to her with such treachery?

She drew back her hand, bringing it trembling to her lap. Mir had only been good to her so far. It wasn’t his fault that he was much bigger than her. She would have to find another way, perhaps to persuade him not to hurt her like that. She heard the door being locked again, and realized that he had finished his bathing while she’d been lost in her thoughts. She glanced at him, timid, afraid, sure that he would command her to come to him soon. Rising from the chair as she watched him stretch, she slunk towards the corner, hoping he wouldn’t take much notice of her.

But his eyes searched the room, lighting upon her. She could see the interest in them, and suddenly the shirt he’d given her to wear seemed far too skimpy to hide in. Her back was to the wall, and she was standing in a half crouch almost. As he looked at her, she lowered her gaze to the floor, sure that the time had come at last. He would call her; beckon her to come to him. And then it would begin.

But just then there was a loud knock on the door. It startled her and she flinched visibly. From the other side of the wooden barrier came the voice of the angry fat man who had brought his slave girl earlier. She didn’t understand the word ‘seamstress’, or most of the rest of what he said. But she hoped that he had brought his slave girl back to serve Mir. Maybe she would be enough to sate his lusts. Maybe she would be saved.

And then a new thought struck her as Mir went to open the door.

What if Mir gave her to the angry fat man in exchange for the other slave girl? Maybe the reason Mir didn’t want her before was because he didn’t want her touching him because she was drow. Maybe he wanted his own kind only. And if he had no use for her, why not give her to the fat man to get what he did want?

The thought of it horrified her. She slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor, her knees held up tightly to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself like a defensive shield. She was unaware of how that position made the shirt ride up to her hips, and left her exposed. The blur of tears filled her eyes, and dimly she made out the figure of the fat man entering the room, accompanied by the human woman at his side. A shiver of dread quaked her slender body.

‘God’s,’ he thought. The last thing he needed was Spiriel helping him wash. If the poor girl started to help him, her delicate little hands running over every inch of his flesh, he knew he’d take her right then. It was hard enough to behave himself with a comfortable distance between him and her. If she started rubbing on him it would all be over. He wasn’t so sure it would all be over if she raised her arms up with her back to him again. She had a cute little ass.

Given that she even offered, and looked a little downcast when he refused, he was fairly certain she was a slave now. It also made him wonder just how awful her former masters had been if the poor girl so eagerly accepted him. And that just made the temptation worse.

‘See, she accepts you, eagerly even. You can’t turn her loose, so just take her. Hells, you’ll treat her right, take good care of her. You won’t be a brutal prick like the last guy that had her. You’ll keep her well fed, in nice clothes, safe, and at night you’ll do your best to make sure she’s happy too.’

Mir grunted as he went to the table after his bath and snatched up an apple, munching on it and avoiding looking at Spiriel. He could control himself, he always had before. That voice was always there encouraging evil but then so was his conscience telling him that if he gave in he wasn’t coming back. If he gave in with her he’d give in the next time he found some girl he could take advantage of and then years down the road he’d be the kind of scum he used to get paid to dispose of.

He still caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye though and it made him pause. Before dinner she’d been ready to help him bathe, maybe even eager. Now, she was slinking away from the table towards the corner of the room. He turned towards her to ask her what was wrong and in spite of his concern his eyes scanned over her from top to bottom. Her hair was a fascinating silvery white, long and at the moment free. Her ears, typically elven, poke up and out of it, long and pointed and an interesting counterpoint as two coal black interlopers jutting up out of drifts of silver hair. Her face was young, with the sharper angular features of an elf, beautiful in every way to his eyes. Her lips were kissable, jet black and standing out even in spite of her dark features. Her body was slender, that of a young girl just blossoming into womanhood. She was long and lean like her kind usually was with two perfectly ripe breasts just hidden in the collar of his shirt. The hem of it swished around the tops of her thighs, barely concealing her womanhood but letting him look at her slender legs. Even his baggy shirt couldn’t hide the womanly swell of her hips and he knew from what he’d seen that she had a cute bottom. All of which he took in in less than a second, all of which sent a rush of blood to his groin, and all of which was wildly inappropriate when he was just worried about her well being and trying not to frighten her.

“Spiriel?” he started to ask but was cut off by a loud thump at the door. “What?” he snapped.

“You wanted a seamstress, I brought one, don’t yell at me for doing what you asked,” the man fired back.

Mir wanted to send them away. If Spiriel was upset this surely wouldn’t help but she also needed clothes. It was obvious that his were not going to be sufficient and she couldn’t go back on the road barefoot and in a shawl. So Mir grumbled and unlocked the door allowing in the innkeeper and a young woman between Mir and Spiriel’s age. The woman seemed a bit shocked by his state but said nothing. She was a rather good looking woman. More mature than Spiriel and well filled out. Spiriel was the flower of youth and this woman was femininity in full bloom with a nest of curly black hair on her head. If Spiriel hadn’t been here he’d have offered her a gold or two to spend the night in his bed, the worst she could say would have been no after all. “You’re the seamstress?”

“Yes,” the woman said, her gaze fixed on Spiriel before tearing it away to look at Mir. “Yes I am.”

“You’re good?”

“Very.”

“Fast?”

The woman stood up a bit straighter. “I can be, when needed.”

“Good, I need a set of clothes for me and several for her,” Mir said.

She nodded. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll have to put everything else on hold and just work on yours,” she said.

Mir snorted and went to his pouch. He pulled out three gold coins and dropped one into her palm. “Get the job done and the other two are yours as well.”

“Alright, what do you need?” she asked as she fished out a scrap of paper and a charcoal pencil.

Mir was about to dismiss the innkeeper when he noticed the fat man’s gaze was locked on Spiriel. Mir glanced at her and noticed how her shirt was riding up and where the man was leering. “Get out,” Mir growled as he put hand to the man’s shoulder and shoved him back out the door before slamming it shut.

“Sorry,” the seamstress apologized. “I didn’t know.”

Mir looked back at Spiriel and walked to her where she was in the corner. Mir’s eyes had strayed, it couldn’t be helped, and he had no real idea what he was looking at. With how she was sitting a human girl’s womanhood would have been completely exposed and yet on her he didn’t see anything, well much of anything. A flash of white and a crease far lower than it should have been but it was hard to make out in the dark corner and with her dark skin. She was visibly quaking so Mir knelt on one knee in front of her and offered her his hand. “You’re safe,” he said. “Mir will keep Spiriel safe.”

He drew her up to her feet and had her sit on the bed. “She’s going to make new clothes,” he said pointing at the seamstress and then tugging at Spiriel’s shirt and his shorts. “Just watch,” he said patting her on the leg.

“Is she new?” the seamstress asked as she walked up to Mir and unrolled a small measuring tape.

“I think so,” Mir said as he stood and waited. The woman started to take his measurements, arms, chest, waist, and inseam. Thankfully Spiriel’s terror had rid him of any excitement so the seamstress didn’t get the wrong idea as she measured his inseam. She wrote each measurement on the scrap of paper before finishing and writing down a few more notes.

“She must have cost a pretty penny,” the seamstress said. “Young thing like that.”

Mir thought about denying it, but it did simplify things if everyone just thought she belonged to him. He tried to assure himself that it was just for the purposes of keeping people from panicking but he had to admit. There was a little thrill in pretending she was his property. “A small fortune.”

“So I assume you’ll want me to make her look good?”

Mir hesitated but his own nature answered for him. “Yes.”

“So what do you need?”

“Just a tunic and shorts for me, if you’ve got the time a cloak and a woolen doublet and breeches for wearing under my armor.”

“Heading north?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“I’ll make it all warm for you then. What about her?”

“She’s got nothing, she needs two or three sets of undergarments, jacket, pants, blouse, tabard, cloak, boots even. Two or three sets. And...”

The seamstress looked at him expectantly when he paused.

“...a dress, something pretty but we can keep in a pack.”

The seamstress kept jotting it all down before lowering her paper. “I’ll do what I can but I can’t do all this in two days. And I can’t do boots at all.”

“Then get some help.”

“Two pieces ain’t gonna cover it.”

There it was, the phrase Mir knew was coming as soon as she complained. “Fine.” He dropped another coin into her hand. “And three more when it’s all done, but it had better be done.”

“It’ll get done,” the seamstress assured him as the gold disappeared into her apron. “Alright then, I need to get her measurements.”

Mir nodded then gestured to Spiriel. “Come, stand.” He hoped she’d be calm enough to get this done.

The horrible fat man just kept staring at her. Spiriel watched as Mir negotiated with the woman, and gave her money. She didn't think it was normal to pay money to a slave, but maybe the you-mans had different customs. She couldn't bring herself to look at the other man. She wished she had taken the knife now.

But then everything changed, much to her surprise. Mir saw the man staring at her and got angry, making him leave. Then he came to her and took her hand, lifting her up and promising to protect her. Her Mir was not going to give her away after all. He still wanted her for himself. Despite her earlier misgivings about his size, she felt a good feeling inside to know that he still wanted her for himself.

He explained that the woman had come to do something with their clothes, and as she watched Mir being measured, it all became clear to her. Spiriel had seen other important people being fitted for custom clothing in the temples of the Underdark. Sometimes the high priestess or some of the important administrators would have a tailor come in to make special clothing for them. Often this would be done even as Spiriel was performing some service for them.

This was a familiar thing, and Spiriel no longer felt threatened by the woman's presence. Mir was an important and mighty warrior; it was fitting that he be finely attired. And just now, she was wearing half his wardrobe. She watched with interest (and a small amount of pride) as her Mir was being measured. She didn't know all the words that the woman was saying, but she was sure they were words of admiration for his stature.

But then the woman was looking directly at her, and her gestures seemed to indicate that they were discussing her in some regard. She sat up straighter and listened more carefully, but she didn't understand exactly what was happening. Mir paid the woman more gold, and then they both looked at her expectantly. With Mir's gesture, she came forward, standing obediently where he told her.

The seamstress smiled slightly watching the little drow obey like a trained puppy. "You've sure tamed her well. I've always heard the drow were treacherous and even violent. But she seems to obey you like a meek little kitten."

Spiriel stood before the woman, taking advantage of the chance to get a close up look at a you-man female. The woman was taller than she was, and her hair was dark and curly. Spiriel noted this with interest. Most drow had straight hair, very fine and silky. A few had wavy styles, but curls were unheard of. She wanted to reach out to touch this woman's hair, to see if it felt different. She started to reach her hand out, but the woman stepped back, as if startled by the movement. Spiriel lowered her hand to her side, tilting her head in perplexity. She was not dangerous, and could offer this woman no harm. But either the woman was frightened of her or didn't want to be touched by a drow. The crestfallen look on her face showed Spiriel's emotions as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

The seamstress smiled nervously, glancing over at Mir. “She’s not dangerous, is she?”

The relief on Spiriel’s face when he’d tossed the innkeeper out had helped to ease the tension from Mir. She didn’t like him, every time he was around she got tense and frightened. He noted that for the future. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep her from having to be near him. He couldn’t completely remove the man from the equation, they needed a room, but he could at the very least keep himself between him and Spiriel. The innkeeper was no real threat to him at all, even half naked and unarmed.

She seemed genuinely interested as the seamstress fit him which was a bit curious. Then again he knew nothing of her. Maybe one of her skills was sewing which was far more valuable than most people let on. He didn’t want to think how much gold he’d put into the hands of seamstresses over the last two decades. She watched quietly and when it was all done she seemed to be in a much better mood.

When Mir told her to come stand she did without hesitation, something that didn’t escape his notice, and it didn’t pass by their guest unnoticed either. Mir nodded slowly at her compliment and smiled. “She’s proven to be a very good girl. Take proper care of your slavegirls and they’ll behave like perfect little angels. I’d heard about drow too but she’s always been a little treat.” He was enjoying this far, far too much. Images of Spiriel with a collar on were dancing in his head. After all, if that was going to be the disguise wouldn’t it make perfect sense? He could always take it off her when they left town right? In fact not having any kind of collar or brand could even make people wonder if he was telling the truth and that could get them into trouble. Though he was having difficulty imagining what that trouble would be. Maybe the city guards would object to a free drow? He smiled warmly at Spiriel, hoping that his happiness with her would keep her calm as would his presence. He doubted the things going on in his head would make her feel nearly so comfortable with him.

When Spiriel reached for her hair the seamstress started and ask him if she was dangerous. His mind flashed back to the way she’d come at him when they’d first met, her little silver dagger at his throat. She was fast, just as fast as him but at the moment she was unarmed and he was between her and any sharp objects in the room.

“No, she’s harmless,” Mir said. “She knows if she steps out of line I’ll spank her little bottom,” he chuckled. Gods what the hell was he thinking saying that. He’d let his mind get a little too comfortable with things and the idea of Spiriel bent over his lap had blood rushing back to his groin, again. Mir was proud of his self control but his instincts were confused, he couldn’t remember a time where he’d spent this much time with a woman wearing this little, and not been getting ready to fool around with her. His natural reaction to this situation wasn’t the appropriate one.

The seamstress relaxed a bit at his reassurance. “I don’t see a mark on her, not even a collar, most owners mark their property right away in case it escapes.”

Mir licked his lips while he came up with a solution. “I paid a great deal for that perfect black skin, do you really think I’d ruin it by burning a brand into it or carving it up?” That made sense, he thought, he hoped.

"You'd better be careful then. Someone might get ideas that she is unclaimed. If not a brand or tattoo, then at least a collar to mark her as yours so that no one else tries to claim her. Of course I'm not trying to tell you your business."

Reassured by the warrior’s obvious control over his slave, the seamstress gathered her courage to step closer again. “I suppose you’re just curious about me then, aren’t you? Well, I guess it’s okay then.” To Mir she said, “I’ve honestly never seen one up close before.”

“Her hair looks like silken threads almost. It’s so fine.” She reached for Spiriel’s hair, but hesitated, glancing over at Mir to see if it was okay. But Spiriel reacted first, bringing her own hand up to gather some of her hair. She held it out to the seamstress, inviting her to feel it, and when the woman touched it, her lips curled into a smile. Spiriel reached out again for the curly hair of the seamstress, but this time hesitated, looking at her to make sure it was all right to touch.

The seamstress chuckled a little, surprised that a drow would be so polite. “It’s okay, you can touch. You let me feel yours, after all.”

Spiriel touched the curls hair tentatively; her eyes full of wonder as she straightened one curl out, then watched it resume its curly spiral. She broke into a smile, amused by the springiness of the seamstress’ hair. She twirled a dark finger in it, then tried to push it down flat to the woman’s head with the palm of her hand, very gently. She giggled when it sprang back out.

The seamstress grinned to see this drow - who moments before she would have thought of as possibly dangerous – behaving like any normal young woman curious about a new discovery. She glanced back at Mir, noting his expression as he watched the two women. Gently she took Spiriel’s hand in her own and moved it away from her head. “Well, we’d better get down to business. I do need to do my job.” She said to the drow girl.

“Okay, like this.” She held out her arms, shoulder height, straight out from her sides, and was glad when Spiriel mimicked her pose. The girl seemed to know what was expected of her at least, the seamstress noted. Of course she also noted how the hem of the shirt raised up when she lifted her arms. She looked past Spiriel’s shoulder, casting a quick glance at the warrior to see the effect it would have on him, but carried on with her measurements as professionally as she could.

Spiriel cooperated patiently as the human woman measured her arms, from her shoulders down to her wrists, then moved behind her to measure across her shoulders and from the back of her neck down to the top of her exposed butt. Returning to the side, the seamstress measured from the drow’s hip down to her ankle, and around her waist, slipping her hands just under the hem of the shirt, raising it a little more. Then she moved back in front of her.

“You can lower your arms now. I need to measure your inseam, then I’ll measure you for the underclothes.” she said absently as she marked down the measurements she had taken. She knelt in front of Spiriel, holding her measuring tape at the girl’s ankle, and then stretched it up towards her groin. The seamstress issued a little gasp when she looked between Spiriel’s legs, nearly dropping her tape in surprise and shock. She jerked her hand away as if Spiriel’s skin had burnt her.

“Uhm, what is….? She craned her neck to the side, looking closer, still unsure what she was seeing. “Well I’ve never seen anything like THAT before. Are they supposed to be like this, or did you have that done to her? It must have cost a fortune!”