<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>N’ebthe:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Nefasi<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Zidir, Ilhan<br/><hr/><br/>Oh how easily this could turn into a game but to do so would be an insult to the soul within him. She did not care to insult such a thing. This man obviously enjoyed his prose. Part of her wanted to up the ante like it were some kind of competition but she smothered this inclination just as swiftly as it had come. She knew of his kind from somewhere, somewhere in the back of her mind there sparked a light that would shone something hidden within her depths.<br/><br/>Long lashes fluttered to rest upon her high cheek-bones, falling into the balm of peace within herself.<i>”And if we willed, we could show them to you, and you would know them by their mark; but you will surely know them by their tone of speech.”</i>She recited from the many pages of her spirit, resending her own gesture of greeting.<br/><br/><i>”N’ebthe.”</i>She introduced, those unglossed gems lifting to find him once again. She liked him, just as she liked Zidir deep down inside. She enjoyed her debates with Zidir and she felt she would enjoy the same with this man. She would be lying if she said she felt her stay with Zidir was unpleasant – it was merely inconveniently.<i>”You draw attention.”</i>She added, raising her chin towards the squaring shoulders some meters away – even if she could not see those shoulders tense as they did.<br/>