The palm-blades twinkled in the firelight, their whooshing sounds very
much like some disturbed insect. B'rand caught the as'en high, tossed
them back high-and-low. 

"Gamal. God of fire." Matteen's face was half-limned by the light of the 
small fire in the center of the common room. A trail of smoke lazily made
its way through a hole in the roof.

"What about him?" B'rand's concentration was barely on the conversation,
as the knives passed back and forth between them. Their hands slapped 
their thighs between throws, in a rhythm as complex and exact as a 
ritual dance. B`rand barely realized that their conversation had slipped
into Matteen's dialect.

"Sometime I think you are touched by Gamal. But in head and heart,
not body. You have fire of Gamal in your soul."

"Is that so."

"Hair also."

"Very fucking funny. I'll show you fire-hair next time we spar."

"Your speech is much better. You have learned as'en as well. I am
almost not ashamed to be seen with you."

"All this flattery. This is leading somewhere?"

"I want to know something."

"What?"

"I was not told of  strange dragonraidah when wraith came. I know more
of dragonraidah now..."

"How so?"

Matteen shrugged. "Hanan have joined. Dragonraidah are human. Not demon.
They are good or bad, as human is."

"And?"

"Strange dragonraidah may be who attack Hanan. Force tribute
from Hanan. Take woman of Hanan village." Matteen looked at him 
very seriously. "You understand?"

"So you're going to try at revenge?" B'rand shook his head. "It won't
work, even if my tribe find rogue dragonraidah. Rogue tribe is still 
strong, still powerful. They do not attack, only because Cleft is strong, too."

"Cleft and Hanan together now."

"Your fight is my fight?" The chieftan nodded. "Cynthia may not see it 
that way."

"You and I must think on this some more." B'rand yelped as a cunning throw
barely missed slicing his arm.

************************
"I still don't see what you're trying to do-" Lenna's hand jerked up towards
the blindfold. B'rand slapped it with gusto.

"Ow!!"

"Not yet, let me guide you through this room here..."

"It would be just like you to try and maneuver me off a ledge."

"Then I'd have to explain it. No one would believe that you would just
walk around with a blindfold on just because I told you to, anyway."

"Listen buster, you *asked* me to, not *told* me. If you need a lesson on
how your manners should be, I'll be glad to arrange a demonsta-whoop!"
B'rand pulled back his foot and caught her from the trip.

"Sorry."

"That does it!" Lenna pulled off the blindfold. Her hand raised for a slap, then
froze. "How did you manage to do all this?"

The two candles on the table illuminated the steaming food placed on
it; nearby, a sweating bottle of wine stood, having been recently pulled
from the cold river. Lenna looked wide-eyed at B'rand. "Where did you
learn how to cook?"

B'rand snorted. "Forget that. Danki did it for me."

"Why?"

I think she's looking for any excuse to have us be romantic. Doesn't she have 
enough grandchildren already?"

"I don't believe that."

"Believe it. She even gave me this soap, she said it was some new formula 
and she wanted us to try it out."

"Where?"

"In the tub, where else?" B'rand picked up his squirming mate and carried
her to the bath. The food laid on the table, oblivious to the splashing and
giggling.

***************************
He sat on the edge of the cave opening, looking up at the stars. For once, 
his body was totally relaxed, not tensed up with hours of tedious patrol
or arguing with his mate about the rogue rider.

There was just no possible way that she could have known who the rogue
was. No fucking way. Too long ago, and let's face it, from her story she 
couldn't have gotten that good a look at him in the first place. B'rand was
worried with the other possibility: she was still holding something from that
encounter inside, and just looking for any reasonable target to vent it on.
The dreams were another sign, they should have left a long, long time ago. 
Something had happened in those caves, but what? Was she claustrophobic?
Was it that simple? He shook his head; deal with it later, B'rand. It'll just
cause you to lose sleep, and after being pleasantly strung out on wine
and sex he didn't need to stay awake.

His fingers traced the shape of the small harp beside him. How long had it
been? Months, certainly. Maybe playing would cause every dragon in the
warren to roar in agony, but he needed music. His first notes were tentative,
half-remembered scales, snatches of song...he had played for the Hanan, 
trading songs, one of the reasons Matteen had finally warmed to him.
Well, that and the chance to throw knives at the fire-hair. He played a 
few of the melodies, the harp notes swelling to a constant waterfall of 
sound. He winced at the occasional fumble, but in general the fingers
still remembered. Almost ghost-like, the breathy sound of pan-pipes
voiced a harmony. 

He almost stopped, but then decided to continue. With the dark and his
position he had no idea of the identity of the other player; did it really 
matter? They played well enough. For a little while, the rushing of the
nearby river and the night sounds of the wasteland were framed and
occasionally punctuated by the serenade. They traded melody and 
harmony, improvisations on the simple themes. Finally, B'rand plucked a
chord from the harp and leaned his head over the ledge to salute
the unknown player; it was time for a soft bed and a warm blonde.
What he barely picked out in the darkness was a man in dark clothing 
with his hair tied in a thong down his back.

"Who the hell are you?"

_______________________________

Let's see, that's a tag to Barb and a tag to Darren :)











Allen Veazey
wolf@dbtech.net
	
	"A little nonsense now and then / is cherished by the 
	 wisest men."
			--Willy Wonka