more questions than answers
He had to admit that it felt good to feel his fist connect with the man's ribs. The audible crack was satisfying, given the ups and downs his comfortable, if “unsavory,” life had taken.
The light from her lamp flickered with amber insistence by the Ranger-Lieutenant’s side, casting quiet shadows across the delicate contours of her face as well as the array of crisp parchment splayed across her desk, and giving her a moment’s pause as she watched their translucent shapes shift and contort the tidy scrawl of ink curling across their pages. She had forgone the ultimately more efficient magelight available to her in the quiet solitude of her office, in favour of this baser light source. The sinuous dance of natural flame, devoid of channeled arcane in its continual cycle of consumption and ignition, nonetheless conjured dreams in the quiet soothing of senses it commanded.
"How do I know your interest in me isn't just to get to my father?"
It was not a new question, nor was the manner in which it escaped from the woman's pretty little mouth; a playful murmur of a purr as she let the tips of her fingers play within the golden blond lengths of hair that fell loose to the middle of his shoulders. She was a pretty thing herself, flesh of smooth porcelain and soft ringlets of burnished copper; with pert breasts, a narrow waist and a pleasant swell of hips that maintained an all too conscious sway as the pair moved along the walkway that encircled the open hall.
He said she kept running.