[sylvanSpider]

Kastivi looked at her companion in admiration with just how many fighting styles he'd managed to glean from, any tricks learned shrouded in mystery. She very much looked forward to seeing him in action—especially given the fact that his mentor actually said she saw something in him. Even having just met Wisp, she could tell that that was no easy feat. Her understanding of his fighting would come when she saw him fight, however, and if he looked as attractive as he did now, red-faced and stammering at a bar, she may have to avert her eyes. Ser Christoval was the picture perfect vision of a knight, clean, pure, crisp...perhaps even chivalrous. Other knights that she'd worked with had been less so, offering to pledge fealty to her in exchange for crude things done to her—but she'd chased them all away easily. They lacked maturity, discipline, or any semblance of civility that even the lowliest adventurer should have been at least aware of. Christoval was different.

And there it was: the denial. Kastivi couldn't help her face contorting slightly to one of disappointment, but his words rang true; the knight did barely know the firedancer, and the firedancer him. Her eyes went up to meet his at the word “friend,” and in a moment's notice her smile was already sincere and on her face. Her eyes went back to Deadwaltz, however, when she spoke—about the Daughters of Ash no less. Kobolds, really?! Her eyes went back to Wisp for confirmation and unlike Christoval, the denial was not there. Cheeks flushing, she pressed her lips together in a firm line, choosing not to say anything in response to that, Ara's words echoing in her head Keep your head down, and if you can't say anything nice stay silent. Silence was golden after all. So instead of speaking, she drained the last of her ale almost choking at Deadwaltz's next comment.

“He hasn't put anything in me!” Kastivi stammered, voice cracking on the word 'anything,' already flushed cheeks darkening. She had to keep herself from adding “yet” but thankfully caught herself on that one. He said it himself. Friends. Yes, that was it. Besides, who could tell where they would wind up once this quest was finished? He would go with his mentor, she with hers; they may never see each other again. Best not to get attached as Ara would say. She cleared her throat, setting her mug down on the table, “Well, if you have Wisp's approval, then I am predicting a smooth journey and I'll be pleased by your company. As far as the healer goes, I have yet to meet him. The list simply said 'Percival' and Arabella seemed pleased by it, so I am sure we are in good hands.”

Best to start off on the right foot, so kind words and etiquette were in play here—both things that Arabella had taught her. The small farming community that Kastivi hailed from was not one known for being polite, its populace consisting of strong farmhands whose knowledge lay deep in the scent of fresh tilled soil, the sights of a myriad of colors painting the scenery at harvest, the sweat of the brow of a hard day's work, less so learning the proper utensils when eating such and such a dish. Harder than teaching Kastivi the manners themselves was telling her why. It was a concept that lay just beyond Kastivi's reach then, finding utterly no need for it. Why shouldn't she talk with food in her mouth if she had something to say? It wasn't like she was spitting it on the table. No, Arabella went through painstaking measures to see to it that she learned, and she did learn—in manners and literacy. Now Kastivi resembled the southern nations in appearance and dress only.

The conversation carried on in much this manner and Kastivi found herself relaxing after a spell. Deadwaltz was harmless, she gathered, so long as she was on your side. Thankfully, she was. She picked up her second allotted ale and the fellowship continued until she looked down at the empty well of her mug in dismay saying, “As much as I hate to cut this short, we leave at dawn tomorrow and I really must be ready for it.”

++++

As Kastivi predicted, dawn came too early when she was awoken by the scent of Arabella's tea. That was all she needed to wake up, opening her eyes to see that the sun had barely begun its ascent into the dawn's sky, the orb just a small sliver in the horizon now. She sat up, rubbing her eyes seeing the halfling packing the few belongings that she'd gotten out of her pack.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you ready to begin our adventure today? I put a few extra ingredients in the tea today, should ease your head in case you drank more than the two last night,” Arabella said, uncharacteristically chipper.

Kastivi's eyebrow raised and she eyed the halfling with suspicion, “You wouldn't have been mad at me?”

Arabella chuckled and stretched, arms extending to the ceiling but only going about as high as Kastivi's shoulder as she sat in bed, “I wasn't going to be upset; I saw the way you were looking at that boy. I would have understood. I was young once too, you know.”

Kastivi flushed as she got out of bed, taking the cup of tea that was extended to her. Instead of mentioning Christoval Kastivi looked to her mentor a tired but playful glint in her eye, “I only had two though. I listened.”

Arabella brightened further, if indeed it was possible and reached up to ruffle Kastivi's wild hair taking note of the absence of a certain boy in her words. This she took as an assent; she'd hit the nail square on, “Drink up. The others are meeting in the hall downstairs.”

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Percival was the first in their group to get to the hall, and the first of the customers to order a round of eggs and some cheese curds with a hot cup of tea. As he waited, he opened one of his tomes, flipping through the well-worn book and bringing out a quill and pen. These he kept in his innermost breast pocket for safe-keeping as well as ease of access. He began an entry.