“One’s worth is not measured in possessions or abilities; rather, it is measured in friendship and resourcefulness; as you journey through life, never lose yourself in deference to an imagined ideal.”
—RCotD—

After resting through the night, Emanrasu stirred in the light of the dawn, stretched, and glanced around. His eyes lit on the tiny giant, Rezua, who was already up and had built a radiant fire to help warm them from the night’s chill.
Thick billows of smoke drifted from the fire, hanging heavy in the cool forest air. The aroma of the damp, leaf-laden forest floor, subtly masked by the thick smokiness of the fire, left a chill mix of forest and burnt wood.
Producing a small package of rations from his pack, Emanrasu scrutinized it. “Enough for about three or four more days of travel,” he said to Rezua.
“I hope it will get us there,” said the wonderfully eloquent mountain-with-boots.
He divided out the morning meal, and though it was not much, it should sustain them until they were able to gain work in Erzt.
“Hey, have you seen that pouch the bandit was carrying, Rezua?” Emanrasu asked as he dug through his belongings. “Got it.” Emanrasu said upon locating the pouch.
He dumped the pouch out on his bedroll and spread out the contents: twelve copper, six silver, and a gold coin. A pendant was also present, which Emanrasu picked up and inspected.
Its delicate intricacies belied its stout craftsmanship. The heft was more than expected, the dense oak polished and smooth. The upper and lower fields were stained blue and green. Intricate engravings, filled with gold, extended over the colored fields at each corner.
The etchings and metalwork were subtly reminiscent of the Dance. Each corner symbolized the sun, phoenix, tree, or dragon, with these symbols embracing the green and blue tinted fields.
The piece was a marvel to behold. As Emanrasu turned it over, there was a small but simple engraving of a sword and shield in the center of the piece. Around this graven image were arranged ten groupings of symbols.

“I wonder what that means, though it is a marvel of workmanship,” Emanrasu thought.
“I wonder what the inscription means. Have you seen this before?” Emanrasu asked Rezua.
Rezua looked over Emanrasu’s shoulder: “zubava bana zufova pensam, something about writing in the past and knowing in the future, I think…” he mused. “… looks like a better version of the talisman Aiesa had.”
“Aiesa?” Emanrasu questioned. “Who?”
“You know, the village elder, Aiesa. He had one like this, but… do you mind if I look at it?” Rezua asked, reaching out his hand.
Confused, Emanrasu gave the little pendant to Rezua, who inspected it, turning it over and over. “Yes, it is similar, though much more intricate and, I dare say, more expensive. Aiesa said his pendant was a talisman of luck, so I suspect this one is also a talisman of luck. Though I am certainly no expert!”
“Aiesa… Aiesa…. Oh, Aiesa? Aiesa went to the Dance, what… almost fourteen mains ago. Leave it to you to remember a pendant you saw once when you were six or seven mains old—or even only two or three mains! Your memory still astounds me.” Emanrasu said, shaking his head at Rezua’s uncanny memory.
Rezua grinned as he held it out. “Keep it,” Emanrasu told him, “at least until we can determine its worth. I imagine it would fetch at least a couple of gold coins for our pouches—but then again, I’m certainly no expert either!” He chuckled.
They both chuckled at their less-than-expert evaluations and vowed to have someone in Erzt evaluate the pendant. That is, should someone of sufficient skill and knowledge be available.
Emanrasu repacked the pouch as Rezua attempted to hang the pendant around his thick, muscular neck. Rezua struggled for a bit, then finally, after adding an additional length to the string, got it over his head. As a final touch, he reached up with his large, meaty hand and, engulfing the pendant, tucked it into his tunic.
As dawn broke, Emanrasu and Rezua sat and placed the bandit’s pack between them.
The contents provided a storied history of the man’s life, things he felt compelled to carry with him. A history of secrecy abounded within the creases and crevices of the worn pack. Pockets within pockets hinted at a mind devious and untrusting.
“A pack this complex made for storing items would suggest that there are hidden treasures within as well,” Emanrasu thought as they started to sift through the pockets.
“Look for hidden compartments, Rezua. I have a feeling this man had more to hide than he was willing to tuck into obvious spots,” Emanrasu suggested to his small-dragon-sized friend.
Rezua nodded in agreement, his fingers playing on the pendant. “If I were writing the story for him, I would check for a false bottom,” Rezua divulged.
“Pockets are pockets, but the unsuspecting would not be looking for anything other than the myriad of pockets,” Emanrasu said as he glanced sidelong at his childhood friend with new respect.
“Your storytelling and descriptive mind have finally found a practical use in the world! Not to mention that it shows how devious you are,” Emanrasu exclaimed with a confused grin.
“I would have never guessed,” he reflected. “I guess even between us, surprise is still a possibility.”
Emanrasu started digging through the pack, each pocket a trove of storied treasures, as Rezua would say, “the veritable life’s work in a single complex compartmented bag.” Emanrasu smiled at the thought but said nothing to his friend.
First out were the various food items, easily found and retrieved, indicating that the man was more than just a common brigand, but one with the need to move fast and travel light. The amount of nuts, grains, and dried meat they pulled out of the pack was astonishing.
“A week’s worth of rations—enough for three days, maybe four if we stretched it,” he said, looking up at Rezua, who stopped mid-chew and quickly hid his hand. Rezua winked at his pretend deception, then grinned and resumed munching on the rations.
“I guess that makes it three days then.”
Emanrasu grinned and began digging into the pack.
“What is this… a hook?”
Emanrasu splayed the hook open and latched it, felt the heft and practicality of it, then unlatched it and folded it back up, setting the hook aside, along with the length of rope attached to it.
Reaching in again, he pulled out a worn leather-bound case with little strips of steel and wire. “Probably lockpicks,” Rezua offered as he happily chewed away.
Emanrasu shot him an impressed glance and continued his quest through the bag. Slowly, they removed several dozen items: herbs and spices of many kinds, of which some might be poisonous, pointed out Rezua, a waterskin and a bladder of wine, six daggers in total, four for throwing and two for fighting.
They dug deeper and found two wigs, one of auburn and the other dark brown. “The man had yellow hair, so maybe these are for disguises? Oh, and here are various jars and bottles of makeup. I guess disguises are the most likely suspect for those,” he grinned.
Rezua took one of the wigs and fitted it upon his head. He stood and curtsied in an imaginary dress. Emanrasu forced the grin from his face.
“Please, never do that again,” he pleaded softly.
They both laughed as Rezua tossed the wig back to Emanrasu.
“Unless, that is, you want to be like the smithy back home, who snuck out on an occasional night to make himself up as a woman, in full dress and makeup, no less.”
The large man cowered and looked on in mock horror.
“Oh, dear! I forgot all about that! And I heard that Aiesa actually took him home one night. Oh, to be a mouse in the corner for that surprise!” Rezua laughed.
He continued, pulling out some parchment, several quills, and a metal bottle with a black substance—presumably ink.
Finally, they removed a flint and steel, along with several candles.
“Is that really a flint and steel?” asked Rezua, his jaw hanging open. “That would be great to have if we run out of ‘chih!”
Emanrasu looked at him. “What is a flint and steel?” He asked.
Rezua reached out and gathered them up and, holding one in each hand, struck the steel with the flint.
Nothing happened.
Rezua tried several times in various ways until finally, he could produce a spark. A couple of tries later, he was getting consistent and usable spark each time.
“Interesting, ‘chih is easier,” Emanrasu commented as he picked up the bag.
Emanrasu took the bag and shook it a bit. “Can you hear that, Rezua?” he asked. And as he shook it again, the distinct clink of “coin on coin” was heard.
Meticulously, the two friends started going through the pack again and found two secret compartments. The first carried loose coins and a cloth that wrapped up various pieces of jewelry. The second was a manuscript or journal of sorts. “It appears to be gibberish,” Emanrasu said, handing it to Rezua.
Rezua flipped through the pages. “Alongside the other items, a book of gibberish would be out of place. Coupled with the fact that it was in a hidden compartment, it might suggest it is not just gibberish but might be written in some code.”
Rezua stuffed the book in his own pack to puzzle over later.
Emanrasu refilled the pack with most of the items, retaining the coins for himself and handing the jewelry to Rezua. “While you are out checking for libraries or schools of learning, see if you can get these appraised and maybe even sold,” Emanrasu said to Rezua. “If any are recognized, just relate the story, without embellishment, mind you, and let them have the items. We do not want to cause a scene that we may not be able to extract ourselves from.”
Emanrasu counted the coins: ten silver and fifteen gold coins. “We shall be able to travel with a little comfort with this,” Emanrasu thought to himself.
He separated out five copper, two silver, and three gold coins and deposited them in his own pouch, at which point he filled the brigand’s coin pouch with the rest of the coins and placed it carefully at the bottom of his pack.
Rezua, having already packed, was scribbling in his own book. Occasionally, he looked up and scanned the camp, then returned to writing as Emanrasu began gathering and stowing gear in his own pack, burying the coin pouch under the rest of his belongings.
As he rolled up the sword in his bedroll, he paused. “We might be safer if I keep the sword handy,” Emanrasu said.
“I think we would be safer if they were not tied down or buried inside my bedroll,” he told Rezua.
“Mmmm… hmmm…” came the absent-minded response.
“I shot a rabbit with my fishing pole and he turned into a bear. Thanks for helping me get away,” Emanrasu said.
“Mmmm… hmmm… uh… What was that?” asked Rezua, not really paying attention.
After filling his pack, Emanrasu struggled to fasten the scabbard around his waist. Several strings were hanging from the scabbard, but he had no idea what they were for.
Ultimately, Emanrasu tied the strings to the back of his belt, though he also thought they might attach to his leg.
Once the scabbard was in place, he fumbled around, trying to get the tip of the sword into the scabbard. Finally, the tip was in the slit, and the sword almost drew itself into the scabbard, easily sliding the rest of the way into it.
Emanrasu straightened his stance a bit, turning this way and that, alternating between quick and slow turns to get a feel for how it hung.
The scabbard flopped around a bit much, so he untied the sheath tether straps from the back of his belt and knotted them around his leg. Turning this way and that, the scabbard felt more secure, though it was still a little loose, but it moved with him as he twisted into various positions.
Satisfied, he tried drawing the blade a couple of times. The scabbard shifted as he tried to pull, and finally, he decided to grab the scabbard and steady it as he drew the sword.
“This will work,” he thought, “… not as simple as I hoped, though. Ugh!”
After drawing his sword, he realized he would have to unsheathe with a shield on his arm.
Sliding the shield onto his arm and tightening the straps, he practiced sheathing and unsheathing. He even tried to quick draw and was rewarded by a stumbling fall.
“if you stick to fending off old men and women, you might be quick enough,” Rezua said, chuckling as he returned to scribbling in his journal.
Even though he was awkward and a bit inept. He felt more confident while wearing them, which, in turn, seemed to energize him.
“Hey, tiny!” Emanrasu called to Rezua. “Get up and get your pack on; we are ready to travel. Oh, and you get to carry the brigand’s pack as well.”
Emanrasu smiled at slipping that last part in, though he was surprised when there was no resistance. Rezua just shrugged his acceptance and finished getting ready.
Emanrasu set the shield down and deftly slung his burden to his back, quickly tightening and adjusting the pack.
He smiled and thought, “Now, that is the speed I need while donning the shield and sword. I just need to use smooth, measured movements, and understand where each strap goes and how it gets there.”
While practicing, he noticed that, during the battle with the man, both the sword and shield had been nicked. The nicks seemed to chip off the timeless encrustations that had built up.
The sword now had various places where the metal gleamed, and the shield was now showing traces of green and blue.
“The hours of scrubbing and scrapping,” he recalled. “Many hours over many mains father had struggled to clean them.”
“I suppose hacking at them, metal on metal, in the middle of the night, while your son slept…” he said, grinning. “or at least…was supposed to be asleep. Was not the best time to go beating on armor.”
Though he had never seen the sword and the shield up close, he watched his father toil almost nightly to clean them.
“Ugh… the main obsessed about them, who am I kidding?”
“Why did you never tell me?” He wondered. “I would have been happy to help clean them. Why did he pretend it was only an attempt to keep them from getting any worse… I suppose we will never know.
“There were never had any colors showing through that I can recall.”
Seeing the blue and green peeking through brought lightness and joy to his heart.
He was unsure why but having the shield and sword at the ready gave him some modicum of comfort and courage.
He chuckled lightly as he thought, “Knowing we are that much safer gives me a little pep and energy as well.”
Again, the duo set foot on the path and continued the journey, Emanrasu letting himself get lost in the thoughts that made up his dream. The phoenix and the dragon were constants in this part of the land, and it was not until you got close to the seas that the gods of man overtook the more nature-oriented pair.
Most will profess little knowledge of the Dance, though Emanrasu always considered it as more of a partnering than a dance; at least, he was more interested in the Dance than the stuffy old tree and sun revered by many.
His dream had featured the tree and sun along with the phoenix and dragon he recalled as bits and pieces solidified in his mind, though most of it was still hazy.
“It instills a bit of call and comfort,” he said. “Thinking back, it seems each time it comes to mind I feel a calmness. I wish I remembered a bit more of it.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind. I didn’t realize I was mumbling out loud,” Emanrasu told him.
Thus, they traveled for hands, making good time and without the usual weariness that had accompanied him for days previously. However, the reverse seemed to plague Rezua, as he constantly fell behind and complained of being tired, pleading with Emanrasu to slow down.
Heeding the request, Emanrasu slowed down, but they were still making much better time than he had anticipated, and he still felt ready to continue.
“We are making excellent time, little giant,” he called over his shoulder to the lagging mountain with feet.
“I have never seen you this way; you have almost never been able to outwalk me. Outrun, yes, but I have the stamina of an ox, and still, you seem to be wearing me out today,” Rezua complained. “How about we take a breather and sit for our lunch and relax a bit?”
The eyes pleaded harder than his words, melting Emanrasu’s heart, and he agreed.
Shortly, they came upon a fallen log a little to the side of the road, and it was there they took their lunch. Emanrasu portioned out two helpings of food, but before he could claim his own, Rezua’s hand had scooped up both portions.
“Hungry?” Emanrasu asked the big man.
“Practically starving from the pace you have put us in today,” Rezua said as he snuck the muffled reply around a mouthful of food.
They relaxed and recharged, though Emanrasu took some time to bandy about with the sword. It was heavy, but he seemed to be getting the hang of it, making it lighter or at least worth the effort to bear the burden.
“Hey, listen to this,” Rezua said with a twinge of pride and excitement in his voice. “The faithful scribe entered the clearing, scanning it deliberately. His eyes fell upon Emanrasu, sleeping soundly in his roll. His weapons were close at hand, as always, the steel and tinctures glinting in the gathering dusk. A slight movement beyond the sleeping warrior caught the scribe’s eye, but before he could utter a word, Emanrasu was up and at the ready, shield in defense, sword at the ready.
“Emanrasu deftly dodged the skilled axeman, intent on relieving our hero of his life and limb. Emanrasu smacked the man on the backside with the flat of his blade, showing that his skill was unmatched by any, let alone this lone assassin.
“The assassin was shocked and swung another precisely placed blow that should have cleaved Emanrasu in two. However, Emanrasu Bakerson was faster than the sunlight today and again dodged the deadly blow as if the assassin were a mere child in training.
“It was in this manner that the assassin attempted several times to finish the job, but each showed the superior skill and dexterity of the future king.
“Two more assassins stepped from the shadows, and with a knowing nod, they synchronized their attacks. For an ordinary man, this would have been the death of him. However, our once and future king was no mere man; the Dance itself came when he beckoned, and as the three became five, Emanrasu said a silent prayer to the Dance.
“The glow of his aura and the shining of his weapons were a testament to the answer from the Dance. His blade flicked in and out as his shield became a veritable castle wall against the ineffective attempts from the master assassins sent against him.
“In the span of three heartbeats, the sword quit flicking, and the shield dropped to a resting position. The five assassins lay at his feet, the last of their life’s blood seeping into the soaked earth beneath them.”
“Uh… I… I am not sure,” Emanrasu said, though he was quickly cut off by Rezua’s outstretched sausage of a finger.
“Without a second thought, Emanrasu placed down his sword and shield and called over to his trusty scribe, the lone witness to the destructive power of the king and the Dance. ‘Get some rest, my dear scribe,’ he ordered. ‘We have a journey to finish on the morrow.’ And with that, Emanrasu laid down and rolled over, almost instantly sleeping without worry.
“Well, what do you think, Eman? Pretty good, right? I was going to make it a dozen assassins, but I didn’t want to draw out the narrative,” explained Rezua.
Emanrasu stood and stared at Rezua for a moment, trying to get a handle on what the big man had just done.
“I am not sure we want that version to become known. We both know that is not the way it happened.
“You saw… had I not had luck on my side that night, we might both be lying on the blood-soaked ground,” continued Emanrasu, correcting the towering tree-with-a-quill.
“It’s called poetic privilege, Eman, you know that. Or at least I have told you that. And anyway, I swear I saw an aura about you that night. It wasn’t blinding, but I swear to you it was there,” Rezua insisted.
“Look, Rezua, if you’re going to insist on including me, at least try to make it grounded in reality. A fanciful tale like that comes out, and you and I may not be long for this world. Insisting I have a supernatural or mystical connection in some way would be the death of us.
“People from all over might come to try and test us just to find out how good we are. I would much rather be the simple lucky traveler with a whole lot of luck and determination,” Emanrasu said, setting the expectations appropriately.
“Fine,” replied the gentle giant. The pretend quiver in his lips and his cowering demeanor were not enough to convince Emanrasu to change his mind.
After Rezua rested and his things had been stowed, they once more set foot-to-road and continued on.
They passed the occasional traveler, and everyone seemed to give them a wider berth now. Maybe it was the sword and shield.
As the sun dropped below the treetops, they started to see more traffic, even a cart or two. It seemed their progress was bringing them closer to Erzt than Emanrasu had expected.
“I thought Ertz was farther,” he said.
“Or maybe… maybe… you have driven me on like a dog with a cow. Pushing me continuously forward without care and…” replied the giant ball of complaining.
“Of that, I am sure I would have fallen by the way by now, had it truly been that far,” said Emanrasu.
“Perhaps my distances were wrong or the man gave me the incorrect information,” Emanrasu thought.
He stopped a passerby and found it was indeed Erzt.
As they approached the bustling town, they saw many of the patrol guards step back from them, whispering and prodding one another.
“Not much of one…” he overheard one of the guards say.
“Right, or his gear would be better kept,” another replied.
Though it made Emanrasu a bit uncomfortable, he did not change the way he presented himself, as protection was his paramount concern.
“Just ignore them, Rezua,” Emanrasu said to Rezua in an attempt to cheer him up.
“Ignore who?” came Rezua’s query.
“The guards…” Emanrasu started to explain but let it trail off as Rezua was again standing motionless in the middle of the street, his quill flying like a hawk on the hunt.
Emanrasu reached out and grabbed a handful of the man’s tunic and gently coaxed him into a steady shuffle. Rezua’s scribbles never stopped even as they progressed down the street, though it was painfully slow.
As he walked, Emanrasu queried as to an inn; they were steered by almost all they asked the Bucket and Nail. It was the most reliable, though one passerby had informed them that the Whorestep was a much better place if we were looking to only spend a hand or two.
They finally reached the Bucket and Nail, a quaint little inn and tavern, well-kept from what Emanrasu could tell and without the usual rank beer and vomit smells he would expect.
They entered, and Emanrasu approached the bar, behind which appeared to be the barkeep or maybe innkeeper. He queried the innkeep as to the availability of a room and two beds and, perchance, a hot bath. Upon spying on the gold coin Emanrasu had laid down, the keep indicated they were more than willing to provide the needed items.
Thus, marveling at his choices and their good time, the two stepped to the back of the inn and up the stairs to what might be their room for the week.
“We might as well see the town sights while we are here, and you will need to find a jeweler to get those trinkets appraised,” Emanrasu commented.
Rezua mumbled something unintelligible and caught himself; understanding came across his face as the entire conversation started to sink in. “Yes,” he replied, “and I need to see if there are any libraries or scholarly establishments. I would like to see what books they may have.” And yes, I will take my precious time and spend it on getting your trinkets appraised.”
The short hall at the top of the stairs led to five rooms, two on each side and one at the end of the hall. The air was musky and thick, an obvious sign that many a wench had secreted up to entertain in various manners. The floor was well-worn, smooth with the many and varied feet that had traveled its short course. Their room was the one at the end, and the door had been swung wide as a maid hurried to put final cleaning on the room for what had been deemed “considered” guests—those who may well be of means but do not appear to want to publicize it.
As Emanrasu approached with Rezua trailing behind furiously jotting, she glanced at Emanrasu, smiled a tad, and went back to her duties as he entered. The newly made bunks could have been military ones, from the taut pull on the covers that had been provided, as well as, to his surprise, pillowed sacks for their heads. The room was utilitarian but not sparse. A desk and chair were provided, as was a table and two chairs. The room also included a chest at the foot of each bed and matching equipment stands for various weaponry or tools. Everything was well-worn, but none were in disrepair, and the upkeep was well taken.
Rezua commandeered the desk at the outset, and Emanrasu did not contest since it was much more Rezua’s domain in any case.
The chair for the desk, however, was woefully inadequate for the massive frame of Rezua, so he queried the maid for something more substantial to sit on. Emanrasu watched as she looked at him and nodded in agreement.
The maid slipped out of the room briefly and had a short discussion with someone on the first floor, then returned to the room, informing Rezua that a chair of suitable construction would be provided shortly. She returned to the task of touching up the room. A moment or two later, Emanrasu noticed the maid sneaking glances in his direction, and he stared at her until he caught her eye, at which point she blushed crimson, quickly looked down, and continued her task.
Emanrasu slung his pack onto the chest; the brigand’s pack, having been retrieved from Rezua, was set on the floor next to his chest. He carefully disarmed himself, hanging both the shield and the sword on the rack. He was suddenly overcome with the weariness of the long trek and could feel the throbbing of the muscles in his legs and the tightness in his back. He reached down and vigorously kneaded his thighs, then sat in one of the chairs and proceeded to do the same to his calves and feet.
He noticed the sly glances of the maid again but pretended not to. Her glances lingered a bit long as if she were passing judgment. Upon this thought crossing his mind, he sat and thought about the picture he and Rezua presented roaming the roads and streets together.
Emanrasu was lanky, his long, thick black hair invariably pulled into a tight tail, and with a bit of self-centeredness, he flared it so that it draped over his shoulders on occasion, though at the moment, it was lying limp upon his back.
Lanky, though he was, he was not weak. Toting grain and flour and the trudging walk of the grinding wheel kept him in a modicum of physical fitness. His skin was rough though unmarred, belying the weapons that he had hefted and carried all this way.
In contrast, Rezua was tall enough that he must duck to get through most doorways. His towering, muscular frame has the strength to literally knock a man across the street.
Emanrasu glanced toward the equipment rack and mused over the previous night’s events. He felt a slight twinge of pride in the fact he was still amongst the living. His pride colored his perception of the sword and shield, which now seemed to glow a bit as the sun streamed in, striking the sword and shield from the lone window. As he sat and marveled at the protection those marvelous devices had offered him, glints of metal and tinctures shone through the time-encrusted muck, mire, dust, and grime that had lain upon them for ages. He chuckled lightly at the thought of his father laboriously trying to clean them. Why not beat the filth off of them, as the battle started the process of flaking it off nicely.
An enormous chair was brought up from the setting area downstairs, and the inadequate chair was removed. Almost immediately, Rezua shifted from the bed where he had been sitting to the desk. Snatching up the lantern sitting there, he lit it and adjusted the lighting, allowing him to continue. Ignoring the outside world, Rezua delved deeply back into furiously chronicling.
Emanrasu looked up briefly and caught the eye of the maid again; this time, she was unable to pretend she had not been studying him, and the crimson quickly flushed her face. She looked away and promptly finished the task at hand, scurried to the door, turned toward him briefly, and curtsied before turning to make a hasty retreat. Before she could go, Emanrasu called to her, “Wench. Come hither.”
Rezua stopped scribbling and perked up at this, turning to watch the scene over his shoulder. His eyebrows raised and eyes wide to take in the scene, the crooked smile expecting a humorous conclusion, his eyes darted from the girl to Emanrasu and back.
As she stopped hesitantly, turning toward him, he reached into his pouch and produced a silver coin from the change he had received when paying for the room. He reached out, offering the girl the coin. A look of puzzlement spread across her face; then, as it turned a deep ruby red in anger or embarrassment, he knew not, he realized that she thought he was propositioning her.
Rezua, already seeing and surmising what was transpiring, turned the chair so that he might take in the entire scene as it unfolded. The chair scraped on the wooden floor as he twisted it around without rising. The maid looked over to him, after which his meaty finger pointed at her, then motioned to the coin Emanrasu was holding. “Go on!” he urged, his eyes alight with laughter were the only indication that he was not completely serious.
The girl turned again to leave but paused as Emanrasu spoke.
“No, no…” he grinned. “This is just appreciation for the job well done and the hope that you will take good care of the room going forward.”
She cautiously returned and reached out her hand, ready to withdraw it at a moment’s notice if need be. “Thank you, kind sir. You are most gracious!” she said, almost as a whisper but clear and decisive, belying the shyness that she seemed to bear.
She snatched the coin and quickly exited. “To forestall any further advances,” Emanrasu mused. She immediately pulled the door close behind her, but the soft footsteps did not continue down the hall.
Rezua held a finger up to his lips, looking over at Emanrasu, and stood. Rezua took two steps toward the door, and the flurry of footsteps outside padded quickly down the hall, fading as the girl fled. Rezua laughed a deep guttural laugh, thundering through the room. “You practically frightened the girl to death,” he said to Emanrasu. “I am so proud of you!” he exclaimed, wiping the pretend tear from one eye and then the other.
Emanrasu stood and quickly stepped to the bed. Grabbing the pillow, he slung it in Rezua’s direction as he sat and swung his body to lie down. The bed, most assuredly, was the most comfortable he had ever had the pleasure of lying in, though it said little as he had only slept in one other, and it was merely slats between two boards.
Ignoring the snickers of his meaty, oversized friend, he turned over and finally relaxed, the weariness slowly ebbing from his body.
He drifted off to sleep as the dusk crept into the room. The scribbling of Rezua as he returned to his writing was soft and soothing.
Sleeping the sleep of the dead, he had naught for dreams.