Niara
She was ready to die. He was there. Not quite smiling, but she knew he was pleased. Was it pride that kept her from flying into his arms? Perhaps. He caught her eyes with his own as he approached. The closer he came, the deeper she sank.... Deep in the liquid warmth of his clear gaze. Here she was safe, as long as he was here, as long as he could breathe; his presence was her immortality.
Slowly, softly, everything became clear. Shame, loneliness, cold. How had she fallen asleep? How long? Her eyes flitted open upon the bustling inn. The lovely elven lady with whom she had been speaking was gone. She was alone again.
Niara shivered. At least she had no embarrassing faults that showed when she slumbered. She had merely leaned into the soft back of her seat and closed her eyes. Her hair had fallen all about her in chocolate ringlets, tinged with red that showed in the glow of the firelight. What a perfect mess she must look.
She gathered her hair up into the knot again, shivering as the air touched the back of her seemly neck, and lifted her hood. Shrouding herself with the shadows in which she had so long survived.
She wondered why he haunted her so. Feeling his love in every gesture, yet knowing not whether she could return it, nor whether she were worthy of such noble affections as his own.
She wondered what was for supper, but the sun was leaving, and the stars were calling... Just as they always had. She rose, heading toward the door, needing a walk, and fearing that she might be noticed before she reached it....
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