I think my witty introduction bone is broken. Oh, well. HI THERE!
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Math = date – 3rd digit of year = 13 – 1 = 12 paragraphs
Arvid 5’6″, dark copper skin, long brown hair, brown eyes, athletic build.
Taiamuk 6’3″, long red hair, gray eyes, a multitude of freckles, numerous scars, muscles a la Jackie Chan. Notable scars include three stab wounds on his right side and a long, horizontal gash across his chest. Owns one piece of clothing: trousers.
This scene happens a week or so after the last scene. Since then, Arvid has gone from desipsing Tai to respecting him. He is the best fighter she has ever seen and a willing trainer with an effective teaching style. Of course, she finds all this out doing fighty things, which I think would start to be repetitive in WIPpets, so I’m sticking to the interludes. During the most recent fighty thing, Tai fell into a sturdy bush and sustained some injuries. Also, they have learned a few of each other’s words. I cut spoilers from the first paragraph, hence the choppiness.
The trousers landed next to her. The single pair of trousers. She fixed her gaze on the stew and tried to ignore them. They teased in her peripheral vision. She tossed them away without looking when she heard Tai lower himself into the barrel of water.
His moan of relief, the first suggestion his injuries bothered him, almost drew her eyes. She needed to check the wounds when he finished his bath. His scars indicated a good familiarity with combat, but his lack of basic knowledge regarding some things puzzled her. It was as if he only trained to fight and never learned the simplest recipes for salves and tinctures to treat the resulting damage.
When the stew bubbled, she pulled it off its hook. “Dinner is ready.”
Behind her, Tai sighed, a sound of disappointment, she thought. She hoped it stemmed from a dislike of getting out of the water and not her cooking. She heard fabric rub against his skin, then the shuffle as he stretched out on the bedroll. Assuming him ready, she picked up his bowl and turned toward him.
She froze. Wherever the trousers were, they weren’t on him.
Arvid dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks aflame. “Trousers?”
“Ay’dehp ru’keat zudvuh may.”
She slid her eyes up to his face without stopping to see the sights along the way. “What?”
Smiling, he gestured to his shoulder, his side, then somewhere below her line of sight. She kept her eyes on his upper half. “Zudvah may.”
His wounds. He meant she needed to check his wounds and the trousers covered one of them. She took a deep breath. “Just like any man. Like Father, or Kiano, or…” she named off every male relative as she set down the bowl of stew and examined the injuries.
Abrasions on the shoulder, nothing major. Some minor lacerations to the side, no need for stitching and the bath did its work to clean them. The thigh, however, boasted a puncture with a bit of branch and some fabric stuck in it. That must have hurt, but his smile never wavered and he moved with casual grace throughout the sparring match. Arvid glanced at his face and found his eyes waiting to meet hers. They shone with a teasing light and gave no hint he felt any pain. Or embarrassment.
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