#scarsdale

He winces, "I'm not supposed to tell."

"Then again," A pause, "You're my lady and Clem's friend..and I didn't swear anything."

"A quest?"

"Yes, with Chieftain Brekke, Sir Frank, and many others."

"All trolls?"

"All trolls all the time, 24 hours a day. Do you realize how bored they're going to get after a while? You can only stare at those stoic faces for so long before you start to go mad-mad I say. I've lived among trolls all my life. I love em, but it's like you live in a room with a blue backsplash of unyielding brows and jawlines."

A raspy not-laugh.

"I don't know, one troll, all the time, that might be okay."

"yeah?" Hopeful eyes "That's very encouraging."

"Well, it can't be just any troll..." She retrieves a bowl from the cupboard.

"Not too bulky, I think. Slender. Graceful, even."

A blush of lavender "My hind is kind. And brave."

"Why - knowest thou such a troll?"

"He must needs also be a poet."

"And, mayhaps, an artist. One who bleeds beauty into the world." Ladling soup into the bowl.

"I might know an artist who dabbles in poetry, but he's at his best when inspired by a lady, who is brave and kind, and lovely in his eyes."

"Oh... maybe not so kind. She... she was very angry."

Zara sets the bowl down, paired with a large serving spoon to suit trollish scale

"That's sweet too in a way, but I'm okay now, honest," He assures her. "Thanks to you and Clem, and Ginny none of my brains were lost."

"How is she doing? Is she still at the farm?"

"No. Not anymore. She and Emmit had a talk...oddly, she talked longer with Agnes."

"Oh?"

"What did they talk about? I hope they were kind..."

"I didn't hear Emmit's chat , but Chieftain Agnes was closer and thought I was a ssleep.." He tastes the soup, "Oh this is good. I... well, Agnes seemed kind."

"What did they talk about? Did she ask to stay?"

"She asked for right to visit again and mostly asked about making sure you were okay and safe there as you had enemies...at least I think that's what she was saying, hard to tell with pooka," A thought "the Chieftain asked her about sewing, and cooking and other skills, but also ... well, I think Agnes ssaid that any true friend of yours was welcome and that the DeBukes were very fond of you."

She nods. "She helped me. I think... I may have been more rash, without her."

"In that case I'm indebted to her twice over," he says taking another spoon ful and then, "are you sure you don't want to get some of your food and join me here? I won't look if it makes you nervous, but I always feel bad eating while you don't."

"You are kind. But let's not turn your stomach yet, nu?"

"Between Disco fever and torture, not sure how to tell you this, but I don't think slurping would phase me" a smile "but as you like."

"Well, you'd better be less exciting for a little while..."

A soft laugh and he is glad he didn't swallow at that time.

Pauses. "Is DeVere bringing the brand for Imbolc?"

"You mean my sex appeal wasn't broadened by my getting abducted?"

"Oh - you look very roguish with that scar. ONE. One scar is roguish and dashing."

"Two would be showy" He agrees, then a curious look as he thinks over DeVere, "You know? I... I hadn't asked. we're public now. So... maybe, maybe not? I really should find out."

"First Imbolc since you learned..."

"Yes, it is" thoughtful now, "I wonder if he needs help or company? I might offer."

"It could be exciting."

"Did you want to come along if he says yes?" A sip, careful not to slurp himself and hurt her ears

"Would I be intruding?"

"I don't think so, but I could make that part of the questioning. If you'd not be offended?"

"Well, maybe some father son time could be good."

"I'm more worried about leaving you alone," He says "Between Golnaz and her father, you've got reckless action and patient stalking."

"Well, he has been quiet since we buried the necklace..."

"The others gloated , when they tortured me, they said that no matter what, I would lose you. Either to Golnaz, or to him. That she'd either kill you, or he'd make you another her.'

"I am not his."

Grim expression , memory of pain flashing across his eyes for a second. Pain of body, of mind, but the idea of those threats is the greater sting

"And I... I don't think Golnaz is that smart. Cunning, mayhaps..."

then, a bit of a smile as she insists "no, you're not his. And... you're probably right. Golnaz is too..." Looks for the right word, "Weak willed at resisting her impulses to be smart."