In a warm, dry, makeshift shelter in the coastal plains just outside of Kaiimar, Herring glances up at the curtain of rainwater pouring down from his shelter's eaves. The water has parted, as if to make room for something human-shaped, and he smiles and murmurs, "'Lo, Theril," as it falls into place again.
There's a smile in her voice, though Herring can't see it on her lips, as she asks, "How did you know it was me?"
He shrugs. "You breathe a certain way." And grins. "And who else would it be?" Letting his smile fade, he looks up and down the space where he supposes she must be. "You smell of blood. Is any of it ours?"
"Not a scratch on us." Her voice comes from nearer the ground than before, and a blood-soaked robe seems to materialize at Herring's feet. Theril's voice is soft and conspiratory. "This is hers. It's enchanted, but nothing dangerous, I think. As long as we don't bring it into a Wood Haven, at least." She pauses, apparently to stand, and says, "The rest of her is under wraps; I'll bring it out when it stops bleeding."
Herring nods and pokes at the robe with his boot. "All right. If it comes to life, I'll kill it for you."
"Just /kill/ it? If it comes to /life/, I want to see how it's /done/!"
"No doubt." Herring grins. "It's no good pretending to pout when I can't even see your lips doing it. Besides, if I kiss them now, I'll break your spell."
There's a rustle of movement and then a pause. Kindly, and from very close by, Theril tells him, "I almost said to go ahead; I'd rather spend the next few hours with you anyway."
Smiling up into the space where he supposes her eyes must be -- he's grown uncannily good at guessing -- he says, "Go on. They probably need you. We have days and days ahead in Wood Havens in the jungles, and who knows when you'll get to see Glaxtiks and Daryan again?"
"And Thaqz and Berlokh," she reminds him.
Herring nods. "It's a funny thing about Thaqz. I went with you into those tunnels to help you save his life, and I'd do it again, and I know he'd kill -- or even keep someone alive, of all things -- to save mine, but I don't think he or I can stand each other really."
"You haven't tried," she answers. "I think if you both let the rest of it go and just talked for a while, you'd be friends."
Leaning back, Herring muses, "Maybe so. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of. Maybe him too, for all I know." Then he smiles again. "I'm being selfish with your time, Theril. It sounds like the plan's worked so far, and I'm not about to sabotage it. You need to get back while you can still fly."
There's a motion in the air, and a wistful sigh. Theril says, "I almost kissed you goodbye."
Herring smiles and blows a kiss in her general direction. A soft smacking of lips and a wafting breath comes in reply. The thin curtain of rainwater dripping from the eaves of the shelter parts briefly, and Herring glances at the bloody robe at his feet. It remains inert, and he goes back to contemplating the rain and the night.
