After a night as long as yours, sleep comes easily... and ends abruptly, as you feel a weight plop down on the small of your back shortly after the sun rises in the sky. Two small hands knead their way up the ridge of your spine, and a familiar voice whispers huskily in your ear.<br/><br/>"A certain broken-tusked old man informed me... quite casually, mind you... that he had to go to the market this morning, and would be loathe to leave his new guest alone." Sharille chuckles, and slides forward so that a palm rests on either side of your head, and the tips of her breasts just barely brush your shoulder blades. "If I didn't know better, I'd think the old man was inviting a tryst in the holiest of grounds... And with all the fertility offerings on the altar, a less trusting individual might think he's hoping to accelerate some sort of betrothal."<br/><br/>The halfling woman giggles, and wiggles her hips in the small of your back.<br/><br/>"Just what kinds of stories were you telling the priest last night, Elf?"