She inched ever closer, her toes reaching out before the rest of her with each careful step until she stood at an open doorway. There were no actual doors, only strands of beads or silk sheers meant for privacy. She heard the sound of water and felt the Power of the song being sung. Daring to be bold, she peeked around the edge of the doorframe into the room beyond. The olven man that had taken her from the cave sat at the edge of a small pool with a copper-skinned woman leaning against his lap. He washed her back gently with a sponge while singing to her, the whole of her skin a patchwork of bright pink scars and open wounds.
She stared openly at the atrocity done to this other woman, practically feeling her pain. But, for every stitch of discomfort that echoed to her heart, the song washed it away as she knew it did for the copper- skinned woman. The olven man’s Power went beyond mere Resonance of a bard; he drew on the Power that she knew, the Power of the Nodes. He was an arcanist.
“You don’t have to hide in the doorway,” he said suddenly. She squeaked in response, ducking away so quickly that the beads hanging in the door-frame created a clattering sound that disrupted the peace in the hallway. The olven man said nothing more, returning to his song. When her heart stopped slamming against her ribcage, she allowed herself to peek into the room once more.
He looked at her, hazel-blue eyes knowing, but accepting as well. He was pink all over, burned by the sun and covered in his own amount of scrapes and scratches that he ignored in favor of helping the woman in the pool. She eased her way into the room, staying plastered to the wall as if compelled by the song he sang. Little by little, the wounds on the copper-skinned woman’s back stitched themselves together.
Watching it made her own back twitch uncomfortably. She shifted, then glanced at her own arms and at her toes. She was filthy. Her hands absently went to the tangled mass of hair on her head, some of it still damp from the dump into the ocean they’d all taken. How had that happened?
“There’s another bathing tub there, if you want to use it,” the olven man said, cutting his song off briefly to gesture at the tub beside his. She glanced at it, noting movement from the copper-skinned woman. Her eyes fluttered open, deep olive orbs regarding her silently before closing again.
“Do you have a name?” the man asked, even before she moved toward the tub, stopping her motions mid toe-wiggle. He’d asked before, in the cave. As it was then, she did not answer and he did not press.
Instead, she slunk toward the tub and sloughed the loose gown that was draped around her shoulders. The water was tepid but refreshing as she slid into its depths all the way up to her nose. The olven man continued to sing, lulling her into a state of euphoria that ceased some time later when she found herself staring at his smirking face. The copper-skinned woman was gone and the sun at a different angle than before.
“You’ll turn into a prune if you stay in there much longer,” he teased, setting a small bundle down at the edge of the tub for her. “Dinner is ready if you’re hungry.”
He said nothing more, leaving her in peace. She waited several long minutes before dunking her head to clear her mind of his hypnotic voice and scrub herself clean. Breaching the water felt like being reborn, her lungs filling with the spicy scent of cooked food and freshly baked bread. The bundle contained a towel and a clean gown that she eyed with distaste. She put it on all the same, out of respect for the gift that was given.
She edged her way back out to the dark hallway, creeping down its length and winding through beautiful mosaic-tiled steps and intricate arches. There was a bubbling fountain in an open-air courtyard at the rear of the property and three levels of white marble floors that overlooked the ocean. The olven man, who had yet to name himself either, looked up from his position amongst a gaggle of wildly colored pillows and smiled gently. Beside him sat the darker olven man and the copper-skinned woman now draped across his lap rather than sitting upright. A low-lying table sat before them with a veritable feast laid out upon its surface: thick stews of legumes and root vegetables, hard cheeses, dates or figs, dried fruits, and roasted peppers glistening in oils that made her mouth water.
“Much better,” the bard said, gesturing at a pillow across from him. “Sit. We’ve got plenty.”
“Paid ‘nough fer it too,” the other man grumbled, earning a glare from the bard.
“Ignore Liam, he’s an idiot,” the bard said by way of apology. “Please.”
She looked at him again, then finally sat delicately on her haunches. Her stomach growled loudly, making her flush. She filled a ceramic plate with as much as it would hold, only barely remembering to not lick her fingers clean after each delicious bite.
Dinner was eaten in silence. The few at the table drifted away to separate corners afterwards, leaving her to wander the dark halls alone, peeking from room-to- room like a curious child. Eventually, she made her way out to the courtyard garden. The tiny moon blossoms that hung over the walls and along tall trellises grew brighter as the evening grew darker, filling the courtyard with an ethereal touch. The bard sat in a hammock with a stringed instrument across his lap, all of the
