The matron would swear that her knee itched as the pestilence disguised as a pompous merchant set himself upon it. She drew her still-scabbarded sword slowly and gingerly from the belts that held it, setting its sweeping curve beside her upon the tent's floor of carpets.<br/><br/>"I am, perhaps, a touch long in the tusk for tales of love at first sight, oh prince of caravaneers." Her pack, too, she settles behind her, though it stays within her reach, her husbands quiet voice echoing in her ears from younger days.<em>Take nothing with you that you cannot carry, and leave nothing beyond your reach that you would care to lose, for the road may open its doors to you at any moment with no time for refusal or goodbye, and an oft-filled canteen and a well-sharpened sword are poor company if they sit behind you on the road rather than at your hip.</em>She missed him terribly, then, the memory of him as a young, proud warrior who returned to the village to claim a bride with tales of rich lands, glorious battles and skies bluer than the purest ice.<br/><br/>Kairavi's eyes focus once more, and she considers a moment, blinking as she notes the gaze of the wolfess who now bends to breathe in Paz's ear. The elephant lowers her broad ears demurely, lifting the cup which she is proffered to her host. "You are too kind," she murmurs. "Where are you bound, then? What path brings you to the base of the Wall of Heaven?"