Storyboards: Hafwen

In a tavern | The Drifter | Standstill | Wretched Soul | I bleed | Journey | Oblivion | Just a moment | Tribulation | Bewilderment | Wonder | The morning after | Journey | Homeward bound | Adventures

In a tavern
"So," the girl says, "you wish to know of my past?" She takes a drink from her mug and stares thoughtfully at the wall. After a few moments of pensive silence, she speaks again, her voice quiet. "I don't know who my parents were. I'm told they were from Tol Honeth. My father was supposedly a merchant." She pauses again, draining the last of ale from her mug. She gestures for a refill, then speaks again. "They were killed, my parents, by a band of thieves whiles we were travelling from one city to the next. I was very young, perhaps three years old. I guess I wandered around for a few days before a kindly old woman found me. It's a wonder I wasn't killed by wild animals, or starvation." Her mug refilled, she takes a deep breath before continuing. "The woman's name was Esama, but I called her mother. She recognized me as the daughter of a Tolnedran merchant who had passed her home frequently on business. She knew only that my father was a merchant, kind, strong and loving, and that my mother had been beautiful beyond words." The girl's eyes cloud over for a moment as she stops speaking. Her mug having been drained again, she again motions for a refill. She looks up, her eyes clear now, hard and angry. "Mother was killed, poisoned when I was fourteen. I never found out who did it." She looks around the bar, as if for the first time noticing the other patrons. A few at the tables around her have ceased their own conversations and are listening intently to her story. She doesn't acknowledge any of them, and doesn't appear the least bit shy about telling complete strangers her story. Draining her half-filled mug with one swallow, she looks at you, her rust-colored eyes clear and unwavering. Picking up her empty mug, she stands up. It's obvious she's finished talking to you. You're sure she hasn't told you the whole story, but don't know if you should ask her to continue. She walks to the bar, and talks to the barkeep for a moment. Then, full mug of ale in each hand, she comes back to the table. Placing a mug in front of you, she takes her seat and sets her own mug down. She looks for a moment as if she's about to begin speaking again, but hesitates. Looking down at her hands, she speaks, so quiet you have to lean closer to hear her. "I killed a man once. It was perhaps a year after I'd left Mother's. He approached me and wanted to buy me." She looks up, her eyes troubled. "I didn't know at the time it was the custom in the land I was in. So I stuck my dagger in him. He bled for a long time before he died." Her hands shaking slightly, she picks up her full mug and drains it in one swallow. The barkeep, after shaking his head slightly, sighs and sends a refill to the table. "I felt bad about it. I even tried to help him. He died in my arms." The shocked silence at the surrounding tables was almost palpable. She smiles wryly. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." She looks at her newly filled ale mug. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She looks at you. Her face reveals nothing of her emotions, but in her eyes a battle rages. "I'm sorry," she says again. She stands up, her last mug of ale untouched. She looks at you one more time, then walks out the door, the dark of night swallowing her up. A hush had fallen over the tavern, but as the minutes tick by, conversations start back up, ale mugs are filled and coins clink as they change hands.

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The Drifter
Hafwen picks an empty table in a dark corner of the tavern. She makes herself comfortable, and orders a mug of ale. It was really for the best, she keeps telling herself. The clan had its advantages, and she had loved the people in it. But she just couldn't stay in it. It just... complicated things. Sighing, she drains the rest of her ale and orders a refill. "Another night spent drunk," she thinks. "How appropriate."
Chuckling, she remembers, vaguely, her last night in the clan. She'd had a pleasant evening talking to Siaden in the clan lounge. At least, she thinks she was talking. After the first five mugs of ale, her memory wasn't all that clear. Chuckling again, she remembers that Si had somehow managed to drag Hafwen to her room. Hafwen was a bit humbled by the strange, silent girl, but she liked Si. Hafwen hoped she would run into the mute again. It was nice to have a friend that wasn't constantly yapping at her. She felt bad about not telling Si she was leaving the clan. But it hadn't been planned. It was more of a spur of the moment decision. Hafwen would miss Si terribly, though.
Sighing again, this time almost wistfully, Hafwen thinks of kind Urmela, beautiful Xanya, quirky Ordici, bubbly Seari, and even the infuriatingly adorable Maochro. If things had been different, perhaps she would have stayed with the clan. Her mug empty again, she orders yet another refill, then berates herself for clinging to the past.
"It's done," she says out loud. A few startled glances from the tables around her cause her to smile apologetically. "What's done is done. There's no going back, and there's no use sitting here thinking about it." This time, the words are spoken in her mind. Her mug drained of ale a third time, she's nowhere near tipsy. She gets up and walks to the bar. "Time for something a bit
stronger, barkeep." The bartender looks at her for a moment, then nods. "How about a double shot of Absinthe?" It wasn't really a request, but Hafwen was trying to be polite. The bartender puts a shot in front of her. As she's tipping it back, Hafwen digs out a few gold coins. Setting the glass back on the bar, she hands the coins to the bartender. "Keep 'em comin'."

Hafwen blinks. "Whut th'.. ?" she slurs. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she looks around her. "Where'n th' 'ell..?" She sat in the mud, her back against a wall. Looking around again, her eyes begin identifying things. A heap of garbage here, an empty barrel there. Lurching to her feet, she leans against the wall for support. She rubs her eyes again. It's night, that much she knows. She realizes she's in an alley. The smell of the sea comes from somewhere off to her left, and the sounds of a tavern come from her right. She dimly remembers being carried out of the tavern. Checking herself, she doesn't find any bruises or scrapes, which tells her she hadn't started, or finished, a fight. It wasn't the first time she'd been deposited in a dark alley after closing time, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
Belching loudly, she staggers in the direction of the wharf, her hand seeking out a bottle of wine that was hidden in her traveling cloak. Stopping every couple of steps to take a swig, she eventually makes it to the end of the alley, where she got her bearings. Sort of. The town is now to her right, and the road leading to the forest beyond is at her left. Hafwen staggers in the direction of the forest, her mind clouding again as the wine works its magic...

".........."
"......cup...."
"....a cup.....fwen....."
".........."
Hafwen blinks drowsily. The voice that had whispered in her mind now gone, she looks around with a befuddled expression.
"Where th'ell am I?" Lifting her head with some effort, Hafwen blinks a couple more times. She's in the woods. While that thought worms its way into her alcohol-soaked brain, she tips up her wine bottle, only to find that it's empty. "Tha'sucks.." she mumbles. Eventually, Hafwen manages to rise to a sitting position. Shaking her head, she groans. The dull ache behind her eyes begins to infiltrate the rest of her head.
Spitting to get the sour taste out of her mouth, she struggles to her feet. Scratching her head, she looks around, trying to get her bearings. She has no idea where she is, but the sounds of a town come from somewhere to the east. With staggering steps, Hafwen makes her way toward those sounds.
Standing just outside the west gate of Sendar, Hafwen thinks for a moment. Sighing, she heads back a couple hundred yards into the woods to a small spring she'd just passed. After making herself as presentable as possible, she heads back to the west gate.
" 'm sorry, Si." Hafwen said it out loud. She stood at the center of the Market Square, watching the people go about their daily business. The mute girl, of course, was nowhere in sight. Hafwen, on some level, had hoped against hope that Siaden would somehow miraculously be standing there, waiting for her. "Shoulda known better," she grumbles. "Poor kid. I bet she hates me." Hafwen hated herself that was certain. Si had been the closest thing Haf could call friend, and she had just left. With no explanation. There hadn't been time to compose a letter, but Hafwen kicked herself for not making the time.
Hafwen didn't know how long she'd been standing in the square, but suddenly it was dark. Looking around her, she notes that people have gone in for the night, and the Market is empty. Looking forlornly at her still empty wine bottle, Hafwen pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Almost without thinking about it, she made a decision.
Leaving Sendar, she heads in the direction of Camaar and, hopefully, a reunion with Siaden. Whatever else Hafwen had managed to screw up in her life, this was one thing she wasn't going to mess up if she could help it. Si was her friend, and Hafwen owed it to the girl to at least give her an explanation. Ignoring the compulsion to stop in a tavern on the way out of town, Hafwen resolutely puts one foot in front of the other, determined to make Camaar by nightfall.

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Standstill
It's cold here in the city. It always seems that way. I've been thinkin' about you almost every day. Thinkin' about the good times, thinkin' about the rain, thinkin' about how bad it feels, alone again.
Hafwen sighs. She'd been sitting in the tavern in Camaar for days, and hadn't had a drop to drink. The barkeep kept asking if she was sick. Patrons came and went, but Hafwen ignored everyone around her. Her focus was the door. She waited, patiently, sure that Siaden would get her message and come to the tavern. Hafwen missed the pretty mute girl something fierce. She sighs again and finally orders a drink. Si would come. Hafwen was sure of it. She'd left a letter at the Adventurer's clan with Reidia, who'd assured her Si would get it.
Almost unconsciously, Hafwen drains her ale and orders another, then turns back to her musings. She had gone back to the clan hall once, only to find that Si had returned, and then left again. Hafwen was sure Reidia had forgotten to give Si the message. What other reason could there be for the girl to not come to the tavern? Granted it was a tavern, but it was one of the few places Hafwen felt comfortable. Another ale ordered, Hafwen was determined to wait, as long as it took...

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Wretched Soul
Her eyes open. She groans as the sun intrudes, then turns her head, covering her face with her hands. She doesn't know for how long, but it is a while. A very, very long while. Opening her eyes again, she looks through puffy lids at the area around her. She is in a forest. Again. She somehow always ended up in forests. Picking herself up, she shakes her head slightly, trying to clear it. Where, and who, she is has escaped her mind for the moment. Her head throbs and there is a sour, stale taste in her mouth. She remembers a Mallorean. She can't remember his name. He said he was a merchant, but she knew better.
Saldris.
The name comes from nowhere. Startled, she looks up, almost as if it had been spoken aloud instead of merely an echo in her mind. Rubbing her face, she yawns then stands. She steadies herself against a tree. Pulling a flask from her bag, she opens it and drinks from it without
thinking. The bitter liquid inside makes her feel better. More in control. Her mind clears briefly, then settles into a comfortable fog. Ah yes. This is much better.
"Oh for the love of..." the man says exasperated. "You shouldn't drink so much." She agrees as she brings the wine bottle to her lips again. "Yesh, I shoodent." she slurrs. She collapses in a heap on the street, giggling uncontrollably. The man grits his teeth, his patience wearing thin, but his compassion winning out. He helps her up, gently. "Come along," he says quietly, his face grim but his eyes reflecting his concern, and he leads her to the relative safety of the local inn.
Her mind snaps back to the present. She passes through the gates of ... Some place. She isn't quite sure where. She really doesn't care where, at this point. She is hoping for a tavern. And as all good drunks do, she finds one. Grinning broadly, she steps through the door and heads straight for the bar, calling loudly for an ale as she slides onto a stool.
It is late. The sun has set, the stars are out. She stumbles from the tavern, pushed by an unseen force, accompanied by a gruff voice telling her to get lost. Her eyes squint as she attempts to focus them. She staggers through the empty streets, her mind once again escaping to the darkness of oblivion.

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I bleed
She stands, alone, in the darkness. Her eyes narrowed, she waits. A soft breeze blows by her and she smells rain. The shadows of the alley swallow her as she glares into the darkness of the street before her. Like hollow footsteps through an empty corridor, her heart beats. She can feel the blood rushing through her veins, blood seeping from fresh wounds on her arms. She waits.

A shadow appears, growing larger as the figure draws nearer. He passes, and she steps behind and follows silently, her dagger drawn. Her mind is numb, comfortable in a fog of drug and alcohol. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the hilt of her dagger tightly.

Silently, without warning, the man feels cold steel slide through his back and into a vital organ. He gasps and turns slightly, feebly raising an arm in protest. He gazes into the cold eyes of his killer, then sighs as the light fades from his eyes and his body crumples to the ground.

Cold. Apathetic. She stands over the body, her dagger dripping. Her first murder. And she feels nothing. She wants to be angry, bitter. But there is nothing. She looks at the body, wondering why she feels no remorse. No joy, no pain. Nothing.

She steps over the body and walks down the street, leaving behind a trail of bloody bootprints. She easily scales a wall and wanders across rooftops until she finds a comfortable spot. She sits, her dagger finding its way to her wrists. Again, she feels nothing. She ignore the blood as it drips down her arms and onto the roof tiles. Tears, large and silent, begin to fall, mixing with the rain as her mind once again slips into a mindless fog...

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Journey
Hafwen chewed her bottom lip. Slesthas hovered among the bushes by the road, muttering to himself. She'd grown used to his peculiar manner of speaking over the last couple of weeks, and she didn't pay much attention to it. As they stood before the gates of Tol Borune, Hafwen sifted through her memories of the past week. Her drugs purchased, her original intent had been to leave Nyissa and not come back until they ran out again. But the strange little man had intrigued her. He wasn't half bad, for a Nyissan. The snake that had followed them through the jungles and into the Dryad forest was draped around her shoulders. He was small, as snakes went, only about as long as her arm. The dark green stripe down his back was offset by the bright green stripes alongside it. All in all, he was a pretty decent snake. Hafwen grinned. Two weeks before, had a snake followed her, it would have ended up skinned alive and roasted with her supper. She gave the snake an affectionate little pat with her finger, then turned to Slesthas. His hood raised, he waited. Hafwen nodded, and started toward the gates, the Nyissan trailing along behind her.

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Oblivion
I wander the desolate landscape
alone and scarred, my tattered
soul flapping in the wind
like a knight's banner
come home from battle.
Forced to scavenge the wilderness
like a wolf torn from his pack,
searching for a scrap
of sustaining love.
Bruised and broken, an empty shell,
a shadow of what I once was,
I wander in the crushing solitude.
Waves of despair wash upon my shores,
my carefully built castle crumbling,
all the joys crushed
like a neglected rosepetal.
Seas of discontent wash the
salt tears from my eyes,
as the tattered remains
of my soul flutter away.

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Just for a moment
The afternoon sun crawls sleepily behind the hills, casting a ruddy glow across Sendar. In a small lounge somewhere in the northern part of the main city of Sendaria, a small sigh can be heard.
Hafwen lounges on the pillows in the center of the clan hall, her wine flask in her lap. She broods silently, absently reaching to pat Isspt before remembering he wasn't there. When Slesthas went back to Sthiss Tor, Hafwen had sent the little snake with him for company. The last few months had been hectic. Hafwen's travels had taken her from Sthiss Tor into Tol Honeth, to Boktor, back to Tol Honeth and finally back to Sendaria. She is tired of travelling, and looks forward to a few days of relaxing.
Hafwen sighs again and takes another swig from her flask. The clan hall is quiet, which is the only reason her ears pick up on a small sound coming from an adjacent room. Her hand instinctively falls to her dagger, and she watches the doorway carefully. A shadow looms briefly, then Kessik strides into the room. He smiles briefly and takes his customary seat in a corner of the room. Hafwen nods politely. The tall Algar is a fixture in the hall, constantly coming and going, but Hafwen has yet to become accustomed to his silent form. She fidgets nervously, glancing at him from time to time. His brow furrows as he concentrates on reading a scroll, occasionally brushing his dark hair from his forehead. She finds herself studying him, idly fingering the jewels on her flask. His muscles, large and well-formed, ripple under his clothing as he moves. Hafwen suddenly wonders what it would feel like to have his arms around her. She turns away and shakes her head. 'What is wrong with me? ' she wonders, again finding herself staring at him.
He looks up once and his eyes briefly meet hers. For a moment, she is held captivated by him. His eyes, a piercing blue in color, have a sad, guarded look. A small smile crosses his face. Hafwen blushes and looks away quickly, taking another swig from her flask, silently berating herself. 'Get a grip. ' she scolds herself. Standing, she yawns and stretches.
"Tired? " His voice startles her. Quiet and deep, it seems strange to hear him speak. She looks at him, her head cocked slightly to the side. In fact, she doesn't think she's ever heard him say anything before. This small fact fills her with a sudden curiosity, and she nods.
"A little, " she answers. "I've been travelling a lot. I think I'll turn in." He nods and goes back to his reading. She walks to the doorway, then turns, her mouth open to speak, but the words die on her lips as her eyes meet his again. She stands in the doorway for what seems like an eternity, hovering on indecision, Kessik watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. Her mind torn, Hafwen finally gives him a sad smile and lowers her eyes, then slowly turns and walks out of the lounge.

She weeps. In the darkness, a shadow stirs. She weeps. The leaves rustle as a soft breeze slinks through the trees.
The moon glows softly in the clear night sky. Hafwen sits, huddled on the roof of the clan hall, her head in her arms, her face streaming tears. She pulls a vial from her satchel, but for once doesn't drink from it right away. She looks at it for a long time, the cloudy liquid swirling as her hand shakes. She is tired of being numb. A wry smile crosses her face. She never thought she'd be tired of not feeling. The evening had started as normal, but then she'd run into Kessik. She smiles again, a small, sad smile, as she remembers...
The early evening air was cool as they walked, close but not touching, through the park. They spoke very little, Hafwen afraid to, Kessik merely being his usual, quiet self. They stopped near a small pond and watched the ducks paddle around. It had been a fairly serene evening. After watching the sun set, they had walked back to the clan hall and parted ways in the lounge, Kessik presumably to his room, and Hafwen to her usual perch on the roof.
And there she sits, contemplating where her life will go. For so long she has refused to feel. Anything. Not joy, not pain, not sorrow, not fear. And now, she feels all of these things. But no feeling is more prevalent than longing. She is alone. And she aches. Hafwen sighs and puts the vial away without drinking from it. She doesn't know how long it's been since she has resisted the urge to drink the calming liquid, but it's been a long time.
The moon disappears behind the mountains as morning softly approaches. In the darkness just before the sun breaks the horizon, she sits. And she weeps.

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Tribulation
A soft breeze blows through the open window. Lying on her bed, staring at the clear blue sky, Hafwen thinks on the past few hours.
They had walked from the clan hall to the park in the early morning hours before the sun had risen. The moon still shone brightly in the clear night sky, and the ducks were paddling happily about the pond. Hafwen spoke not a word, instead wondering what, exactly, she was doing wandering around Sendar just before sunrise with Kessik, a man she barely knew. Not only that, she was shy around him. It made no sense to her. She didn't trust herself to speak and spent the time arguing with herself about her motives for taking the walk in the first place. In the end, she was right where she had started. Completely confused and at a loss to explain her attraction to the Algarian horseman.
As she contemplates, a new feeling invades her fortress. Mildly irritated, she chases it down until it finally identifies itself. She aches, she realizes, for his company. This sudden discovery causes her to sit upright in her bed. She? Longs for the company of another? And a man at that. Instead of filling her with wonder and awe, she finds herself suddenly angry. How could she possibly want to be with anyone? She is Hafwen. She is strong, independent. She doesn't need, or want, to be with anyone. Her jaw set, she leaves her room quietly and walks down the hall. As she passes by Kessik's room, she notices the door slightly ajar. She taps quietly, and peers into the room, only to find him sound asleep in his bed. She watches him in peaceful slumber, and all the negative thoughts bouncing around in her head disappear. For a brief moment, she entertains the notion of staying there until he wakes. Mentally kicking herself for such an absurd notion, she quietly closes his door and walks out of the clanhall.
Hours later, the tiny town of Sendar is settling in for the evening, and Hafwen sits on the roof in her usual place. As the sun sets, the walls of her carefully built fortress begin to crumble.

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Bewilderment
It is dark. A slight breeze quietly rustles through the leaves. A brief conversation with Kessik, and Hafwen departed gracefully to her usual place on the roof. She watched as Kessik's lamp was lit, watched as his shadow moved around his room, and continued to watch long after his lamp was extinguished. She is captivated by the tall Algar. She doesn't understand why. He intrigues her. He is unlike any man she has ever met. Cursing herself silently for her inability to act on her feelings, she chews on a fingernail, contemplating this tall, silent Algarian and his affect on her.
As the morning sun climbs into the sky, Hafwen is still perplexed. The night spent on the roof did nothing to ease the sense of confusion that had invaded and apparently settled in her mind. Still watching Kessik's window, she has to admit that watching him from afar solves nothing. She sighs, examining the stub of her fingernail. Muttering something to herself, she reaches into her pack for some dried beef and munches at it while she watches the sun rise. Thoughts of Kessik come unbidden to her mind again.
The sun breaks over the sleepy town of Sendar, washing the streets with golden light. Still munching her dried beef, Hafwen watches as Kessik leaves the hall and heads for the stables. Clenching her jaw and making a decision without really thinking it through, she silently climbs down from the roof and follows him, saddling her horse silently and following at a presumably undetectable distance as he leaves the stables and rides toward the edge of town.

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Wonder
A sleepy sun emerges. As the wildlife rises to greet the morning, Hafwen sighs. She sits, per usual, in her spot on the roof of the clanhall. The tiles have been replaced, she notes wryly, making a mental note to apologize again for breaking them. Her savings have been depleted, but the clanhall once again has a perfect roof. Chuckling to herself, she gazes out over the rooftops, watching as the sun breaks over the horizon.
A small sound reaches her ears, and she looks down. The door to the hall has opened. For a brief moment, nothing happens, then Kessik steps through and shuts the door behind him. His long legs taking him quickly to the stable, into which he disappears. After some time, he emerges again, his horse in tow. Hafwen watches quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful silence of the morning. A few more preparations, then Kessik takes to his saddle and rides away. Hafwen smiles sadly, briefly considering following him. He spends a lot of time away from the hall, she notes, silently coming and going day in and day out. Hafwen is curious, but too shy to ask, what he does all that time.
The day wears on. Hafwen dozes for brief periods, lounging in the sun. As the sun begins to set, she pulls out a small, bound book. Flipping to an empty page, she locates her ink and quill, and starts writing. Lost in her thoughts, Hafwen is startled at the sound of someone's boot scuffing the stone walkway. She looks down to see Kessik standing quietly near the door, looking up at her. As their eyes meet, he smiles shyly at her. Before she can react, he walks through the door and disappears. Hafwen sits for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally reaching a decision, she climbs easily from the roof and steps silently through the door and into the hall.

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The Morning After
The morning sun streams through the window as birds sing loudly to greet the morning. Hafwen opens her eyes and stretches. She yawns, slowly dragging herself out of bed. For the first time in a long time, she hadn't slept on the roof. Her own bed felt strange, but not uncomfortably so. She smiles, remembering the feel of Kessik's arms around her the night before. He'd held her tightly for hours before finally shooing her off to her own room. Hafwen giggles. She'd asked him why, he'd blushed furiously and pointed down the hallway. She giggles again. Oh how she loved the tall, silent Algar. Her life had taken a turn for the better once she'd admitted it to him. Sighing contently, she finishes dressing and pads silently down the hallway to the lounge.

Kessik, as usual, sits on some pillows in a corner, quietly reading and eating his breakfast. He looks up at her and smiles. Hafwen walks quickly to him and kisses his forehead gently. "Good morning, love" she says, smiling at him. He blushes. "Did you sleep well?" Kessik nods, his mouth full.
Hafwen giggles. "That's good." She winks and heads to the kitchen for breakfast.

Much later, after the sun had completed its climb to the sky, Hafwen watches quietly as Kessik packs a bag. "Where are you headed?" she asks softly. "Camaar." he answers absently while rifling through a bag. Hafwen nods. She didn't really want to be separated from him, but wasn't sure how to go about asking if she could tag along. Kessik finishes packing and kisses her on the cheek. "I'm going now." Hafwen watches as he walks to the stables. After thinking about it for a moment, she follows.

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Journey
Hafwen thought about it for awhile. As Kessik waited patiently, a smile crossed her face. It didn't matter, really, where they went. All that mattered was that they were together. She quietly slipped her hand into his and faced the thin man, who waited impatiently, glancing at the shadows as if to tell her time was slipping away. She nodded and said, Boktor sounds nice this time of year."
Indeed, it was spring, and the snows in that part of Drasnia would most likely be gone by the time they got there. The thin man nodded absently and turned to bark orders at some of the dockworkers. Kessik smiled down at Hafwen and put his arm around her.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his serious eyes searching her face for any sign of doubt. She knew that no matter what she wanted, he would agree. She knew because she would do the same for him. She smiled at him and kissed him lightly.
"Of course. I haven't been to Boktor in years. I think we should make a vacation of it."
The caravan left Camaar shortly before midday. The sun rode high in the sky and spirits were up. The dockworkers shook hands with the wagonmasters, and the men hired to guard the caravan, Kessik included, waited patiently atop their respective mounts. Hafwen's own mount seemed antsy, wanting to get moving. She chuckled and patted him affectionately.
"All in good time, Jato." Hafwen glanced behind her, making sure her saddlebags were securely in place. The lead wagonmaster looked around and cracked his whip in the air, signalling the start of the journey. The caravan, which consisted of three wagons laden with merchandise and four caravan guards, crept past the northern gates of Camaar and began the long journey to Boktor.

A page from Hafwen's travel diary:
The passage of time, slow and plodding, is difficult to put into words. The wagonmasters are kind enough to share rations with me, even though I wasn't technically hired to be a guard. My relationship with Kessik was the deciding factor, I am sure. My tall, silent Algarian spends his days making sure I am comfortable. It's very sweet of him, but for one used to surviving on my own, it's hard to get used to. So far the trip has been uneventful. The lead wagonmaster says we'll be in Boktor within a few days. It has been long, but rather enjoyable. Maybe Kessik will want to stay in Boktor. I could use a vacation.

The sun loomed high over the mountains. The caravan wound its way along the dusty northern caravan route. The midday sun was especially brutal on this particular day and Hafwen slumped slightly in her saddle. The heat did not agree with her, and she was beginning to feel like a wilted flower. Kessik caught up with her at varying intervals to offer her water, his face creased with worry lines and his eyes searching her face, looking for the smallest sign that she needed to stop. She forced a smile each time, assuring him that she was just fine. He looked like he didn't believe her, but didn't force the issue. Her horse had lost his prancing step, trying to conserve what little energy he gained from the humid nights.
The caravan comes to a creaking halt as it approaches the eastern gates of Boktor. A guard of some sort wanders out of the guardhouse, his hand half-raised in greeting. Hafwen holds her position toward the rear of the last wagon. She looks at Kessik, who smiles at her unconcerned. Hafwen forces her own smile and turns back to watch the guard carefully. Her shady past could potentially come back to haunt her in Boktor, and she was determined to protect Kessik from it as much as possible.
The guard at the gate finally decides that the caravan is legitimate and allows the wagons to pass through the gates. The caravan reaches the northern part of the marketplace just before lunchtime. Hafwen swings down from her saddle and stretches. Weeks of living on a horse has made her stiff. Kessik climbs out of his own saddle and puts his arms around her, holding her tightly. She smiles and kisses his cheek gently.
"I have to stay with the wagons until they are unloaded," he says.
Hafwen nods. "I'd like to run through the market and see if there's anything I want."
Kessik smiles. "Of course, love. I'll catch up to you later." Hafwen kisses him again, then looks questioningly at the lead wagonmaster. He nods at her and, grabbing her coin pouch from a saddlebag, Hafwen disappears into the crowd.
As the sun begins to sink in the sky, Hafwen sits on a low wall at the outer edge of the marketplace. Scanning the crowd, her trained thief's eye picks up on a slight movement. Focusing on a small boy at the far end of the square, she nods. The child, who couldn't be more than eight years old, carefully guards the fruit he had just stolen off a vendor's cart. Hafwen smiles knowingly. She had also started out stealing fruit as a child. She looks away, not wanting to call attention to the boy. If he is hungry, then the food is his due, whether he can afford to pay for it or not. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, however, keeping an eye on him and the guards wandering around.
"STOP!" The voice rings loudly through the marketplace. A fat man with bright red cheeks and a bulging coinpurse steps in front of the fruit cart. He points frantically at the boy who had stolen the fruit. "Guards! Thief!" The guards hesitate only briefly, picking the cowering child out easily as the crowd parts.
Hafwen's eyes narrow. The child is wafer thin and obviously poor. She suddenly feels a profound distaste for this city and its wealthy citizens. Quietly she slips over the wall and unsheathes her dagger. A carefully murmured word here and there causes the crowd to part enough for her to slip through, bringing her closer and closer to the boy. She reaches him as the guards come through the crowd on the other side. The boy looks up at Hafwen, the fruit still clutched tightly in his hands, his eyes pleading. She nods and steps in front of him, placing herself between the boy and the approaching guards.
"Step aside." One guard, young and obviously unsure of himself, stands forward, his sword drawn. Hafwen's eyes narrow, but she says nothing. Her dagger hidden behind her leg, she doesn't want a confrontation. Her morals, however, clearly dictate that the child not go hungry. "I said to step aside." The guard's voice is more forceful. "That child is a thief and must be dealt with accordingly." It is all she can do to maintain her calm.
She speaks quietly, her eyes filled with rage. "I will offer to pay for the food the child has stolen." The guard falters, uncertain. The vendor, his breath coming in wheezing gasps, shakes his head. "The boy is a thief! I want him thrown in the dungeon!" Hafwen glares at him.
"Have some compassion," she starts. "He is obviously hungry, and I am more than willing
to pay you for ..."
The fat man cuts her off. "No! I want him punished. I am a respectable businessman and I shouldn't have to put up with this kind of treatment from scum like him."
Hafwen clenches her teeth. "A respectable businessman would take the money he is offered and show a little compassion for a starving child." The guard watches the exchange, still unsure what to do. The fat man pushes at the guard and utters something under his breath.
The guard sighs. He doesn't want to make a scene, but the man is well known and very powerful. He raises his sword. "I will ask you one more time. Step aside." Hafwen readies herself.
"No." She tenses and whispers "Run." over her shoulder at the boy. He doesn't wait to be told twice. He disappears into the crowd, which has by this time forgotten him. The guard, suddenly angry, steps forward and lunges at Hafwen. She smoothly avoids his thrust by ducking under it and grabbing his sword arm. She twists it hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break it. Her other hand swiftly brings her dagger to his throat.
The guard drops his sword. He isn't defeated, but he really, really doesn't want this fight. Hafwen agrees. She releases the guard and sheaths her dagger. Her eyes on the fat man, who by this time is purple with rage, she picks up the guard's sword and hands it to him, hilt first. Startled, the guard takes the sword from her, but doesn't put it away. The law is clear. She had disobeyed a city guard and then forcibly taken his weapon. The guard steps toward Hafwen, his voice unwavering.
"I hereby place you under arrest for aiding a known thief and drawing a weapon against a guard of the City of Boktor." Hafwen nods. Her thoughts flicker to Kessik and for the first time since seeing the child steal the fruit, she falters. Kessik will be so disappointed. For a brief instant, Hafwen considers running, then thinks better of it. He will be more disappointed if she, doesn't take responsibility for her actions. The guard steps forward again, this time with shackles in hand. He places them on Hafwen's wrists and tugs gently on the chain.
Hafwen is suddenly aware of a commotion on the other side of the square. An officer runs to the guard who holds Hafwen's chains in hand and whispers something to him. The guard's eyes chains in hand and whispers something to him. The guard's eyes go wide and he nods. Hafwen looks at him curiously, then looks at the officer. His garb suggest he does not spend his days wandering the street.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Hafwen looks across the square. A small contingent of guards marches into the marketplace. Oddly, there is an empty space in the centre of the guards. Hafwen raises an eyebrow. Must be a new kind of formation. As they march closer, Hafwen notices that the square is silent except for the sound of the guards stepping across the cobblestone. Hafwen watches, baffled, as men and women bow and curtsey as the guards walk by them. The group stops just before her, and the two guards in front turn to one side and step back. Hafwen opens her mouth to say something when she suddenly finds herself looking at the face of a very beautiful woman.
She is small, but definately not a child. Her clothing and manner suggest that she is of an even higher stature of the officer who had spoken to Hafwen's guard. She holds herself regally, but her face is not unkind. She smiles and gestures to one of the guards. He nods and from somewhere behind him, produces the little boy, still clutching his fruit and looking fearful. Hafwen's eyes narrow dangerously. Important or not, she will not stand by and watch this woman order punishment upon a starving child.
To her surprise, the tiny woman smiles again and the guard releases the child. In awe, the child backs away into the crowd and disappears once more. Hafwen tilts her head to one side, instantly curious again. This day was not going as planned, but for the life of her, she cannot figure out where it's about to lead. One of the guards steps forward and clears his throat. In a firm, bellowing voice, he says,
"Presenting Her Royal Highness, Queen Porenn of Drasnia." Hafwen's eyes grow wide.
She hears the clink of a chain behind her and feels the shackles fall from her wrists. An expression of awe, almost matching that of the child's, crosses her face and she curtsies gracefully, her eyes still curiously watching this small but regal Queen of Drasnia.

Hafwen sighs contentedly. She snuggles closer to Kessik, who mumbles something in his sleep. Their stay in Boktor has been uneventful save for the brief meeting of Queen Porenn in the market square. After giving Hafwen a full pardon for her crimes, the Queen continued on her way. Hafwen felt humbled and exalted at the same time. The Queen's pardon had been for Hafwen's unwavering compassion for the starving street urchin. Hafwen's opinion of Boktor had changed for the better.
Kessik's eyes open slowly. He smiles and stretches, never once taking his arms from around Hafwen.
"Did you sleep well, love?" he asks. Hafwen nods.
"Did you?"
Kessik winks and says, "Of course. I was with you all night, wasn't I?" Hafwen giggles. To some, it may seem that their courtship had gone too quickly. They aren't concerned with what others think, however, and it has gone just fast enough to suit them. Hafwen smiles again, kissing Kessik's cheek.
"I talked to the priest again yesterday. He said he'll be in the temple by daybreak." Kessik blushes and nods. Hafwen looks at him, suddenly serious. Her voice quiet, troubled, she asks the question she had been asking since Kessik had proposed to her.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Kessik looks into her eyes and nods. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life." He kisses her, stopping her from saying anything more. Doubts plague her, but in his arms she feels safe, secure and, for the first time in her life, loved.
Dawn breaks over Boktor, bathing the empty streets in a serene golden light. Hand in hand, Hafwen and Kessik walk from the southern inn to the temple of Belar near the center of town.
They walk slowly, neither in any particular hurry. They do not speak, each lost within their own thoughts. Hafwen experiences a brief moment of panic, but a reassuring squeeze from Kessik's hand calms her. She looks at him, studying him as they walk.
His handsome face is calm, collected. His piercing blue eyes are clear, and he walks with seeming confidence. Hafwen smiles as a thought comes to her. It will turn out right. Everything that has happened to her has brought her to this day. This very hour, in fact. They reach the temple and after a brief embrace, step into the cool interior.
The head priest of Belar, a friendly-looking middle-aged man, greets them warmly. A few other priests gather in the pew closest to the altar. The head priest smiles at the couple and walks to the altar.
"Are you ready?" he asks in a quiet voice. Hafwen nods and Kessik blushes. The priest chuckles and begins the ceremony. "Marriage is a symbol of the love and devotion you both have for each other. I ask you now, before Belar and these witnesses, to promise to love, cherish and honor each other, and to treat each other with dignity and respect." The priest turns to Hafwen. "Will you promise this?"
Hafwen smiles, tears springing to her eyes. "I will."
The priest smiles and turns to Kessik. "Will you promise this?"
Kessik, tears streaming unshamedly down his face, nods. "I will."
The priest smiles again. "Then by the power given me by the almighty Hand of Belar and the city of Boktor, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
The world disappears. Hafwen sees only Kessik. Tears stream from his clear blue eyes. Her own tears flow freely, and she looks at him, feeling a warmth spread through her. She feels only love for this man who had just promised his life to her. Some time later, she realizes they had left the temple and are back at their room in the inn. Kessik kisses her softly, and again, the world disappears.

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Homeward bound
Feathers rustle quietly in the darkened sky. An owl, out for a late night hunt. She sits, her arms wrapped around her knees. She is comfortable, the night is clear, not too warm or cold. She smiles as she watches him move about the campsite. A few more sticks added to the fire, a quick check to be sure the horses are tethered properly and he sits again, his back to a tree, his twin swords at the ready. She has watched him, night after night, as he keeps watch over their small campsites. Unwilling to break the silence, she creeps from the tent. He smiles when he sees her, and holds a hand out, beckoning her. She sits, nestled in his arms. They do not speak, silently enjoying the simple act of being. The fire crackles as the night moves steadily onward.

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Adventures
The sun rose above the trees. An ordinary beginning, really, to an ordinary day. Hafwen scanned the treeline, looking for movement. Other than daytime animals waking to greet the morning, she saw nothing. Her tent was already stowed and her saddlebag was already packed. She turned and raiseed an eyebrow at the other two tents. Her travel companions were still sleeping. Hafwen shook her head in amusement and poked at the fire, thinking about the last few days.
They had met in a tavern in Sendar. Hafwen realized that she had met most of her aquaintences in taverns. After getting very, very drunk the three women, Kerowa, Aewyr and herself, had talked about this little adventure. Hafwen made it seem as though she was genuinely interested, but really she was tired of sitting in the clanhall waiting for her husband to come home. His sense of duty was to be commended, but he was gone more often than not, and would rarely let her go with him. Hafwen felt his concern for her safety was more than a little unnecessary, but she agreed to his requests to stay behind. This little adventure of hers was her way of saying "I don't really want to stay home by myself all the time." Hopefully, he would get the message without being too upset by it. She had left him a note, saying where she was going and that she hoped to be within two weeks.
A yawn came from one of the other tents, pulling Hafwen from her thoughts. The small Rivan woman, Kerowa by name, shuffled sleepily from the tent and stretched. Hafwen smiled and poked at the fire some more. Digging through her saddlebag produced some meat and cornmeal. Winking at the still half-asleep Rivan, Hafwen began to make breakfast.

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