She didn't hear any of his previous words, only the command that told her not to run. Her eyes continued darting back and forth from him and the tent flap, her panic still full fledged. Verissa felt trapped, wanting to run, but knowing to do so would make things so much worse. It was just like the night before, when Jasper prepared to take everything from her. Except, Asher wasn't Jasper. And his eyes weren't cruel. There was concern behind the stern in them. He'd saved her from that man, he was not attacking her now as her panic-addled mind had thought he might.

She tried to force her breathing down, deep breaths through her nose and out through her mouth. Each slow breath calmed her some, until she reached up with a hand and touched her shield. It flashed into visibility, and she dissipated it, fading out of existence with the dull lavender glow.

Her pleading eyes, wet and wide with fear found Asher's, "Please, please don't hurt me. I've never done anything bad with it. I'm not even good at it." She didn't realize that he might not know how magic users back in Ebonfort were supposedly treated. "Are you... Am I going to be punished? Because if I am, please don't let the pups take any harm... They kill or exile us back ho... there. Please, I don't want to.." Leave.

She couldn't believe how careless she'd been. That was her ace in the hole, her biggest secret. And now it was out. She stepped forward a bit, putting herself closer, hoping it would help. She'd seen those looks, seen that Asher was in fact a good man, in a bare whisper, "I don't want to leave."

Asher listened, his arms crossed and his chin tucked slightly as he waited Verissa out, struggling with the urge to say something comforting but suspecting that it wouldn't actually help if he did. All these years he had avoided the responsibility of owning a slave, and as he felt an ache in his chest grow, sympathetic to Verissa's distress, it seemed confirmation that he was not the right man for this, even now.

He couldn't help feel a jab of anger when the terrified woman voiced her fear. It seemed unjust. Hadn't he been kind? Far more so than most men would have been? He had put his life and his reputation on the line to protect her from Jasper, an act that he knew would have repercussions somewhere down the road. He had taken her in to look after her himself, and while his broody widower lifestyle wasn't exactly something to be proud of, it had grown quite familiar after a decade. Would she always suspect him of being one step away from brutalizing her?

Asher seemed to deflate a little, his stern features growing more hollow, haunted, his arms uncrossing from his chest to hang loosely at his sides.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Verissa," he muttered somewhat thickly, lifting his hand to rub his face. "Not on purpose. I'm sorry if I grabbed your arm too hard, I just thought you were already hurt. Why would you be punished? I don't understand this thinking. For being a mage? Is that what they do to mages in Ebonfort, truly? I had heard it, but didn't believe they would be so...foolish." The very idea only fed into the smoldering hatred he felt for the Ebon Knights, one more transgression in an infinite litany of charges, the death of his family being the blackest of them all.

"You don't need to worry about your pups. They may not trust me, but even if something happened to you I would make sure they were kept fed. No one is punished for being a mage here. Some tribes are even open only to other magic users. Magic is just like anything else. As long as you aren't using it to hurt the tribe you're welcome to practice it and make it stronger."

She was closer now, her eyes watery and wide with fear. How strange was it that after a decade of living alone his arms lifted automatically when she came close. Verissa was not Wren, but he still didn't want to see her so distraught. Risking the appearance of another purple apparition, Asher tucked an arm around the small of Verissa's back, the other up near behind her shoulder, his skin warm in spite of being bare.

"I don't want you to leave either," he said, his gray gaze flicking across her face before settling on her eyes again. The full weight of her admission didn't hit him right away, mainly because he was too modest a man to think that she might have been implying that he could be the reason she didn't want to go. "Call me biased, but if you lived in fear like this all the time, what do you have to go back to? At least here you can be yourself. And as soon as our laws allow, I'll help you take the Hunt so that you don't have to be a slave anymore. If you don't want it known that you're a mage, I will keep my silence as long as I can. You should be proud of it, but it's your secret to tell when you are ready."

He lifted a hand to gently stroke her blonde hair. If Verissa being a mage somehow became relevant to the safety of his people, Asher would have no choice but to go to Ozlo, but for now there was no harm in letting her have the time to gain confidence until she was willing to tell people herself.

The solid fighter lapsed into silence as the soup began to roil in the pot behind Verissa. Having a beautiful woman in his arms was...nice. But the feeling came with a side of guilt. He was still married, wasn't he?

Verissa relaxed after it was evident that Asher was going to do her no harm, that he even seemed put off at the idea. She didn't flinch as he touched her back, her shoulder.

"I don't know. When the rumors of people with magic started, more rumors followed that they were being rounded up or killed. People did disappear. But then... well a Knight that seemed knowledgeable on the matter... told me otherwise. But when mine appeared, for a year I lived in fear of just one day being gone."

When he made his admission, she relaxed further, moving into the apparent safety of his chest. She had despised the fear she'd lived under, but there were other things that had been nice. She had her home, her own little purpose in life, and... her loneliness. It had all been so quaint and dull, which was perhaps why she was never able to settle for Edoward. Her home gone, her purpose lost, what did she really have left?

Her parents.

But she didn't live with them. They lived in the capital. But she knew her dad would be worried sick, her mother less so, more embarrassed that her only child might be a heathen. She wished she could contact her father, to at least tell him that she was alright. But she knew that to be impossible. She pressed her palms gently against Asher's firm chest, looking up at him as he stroked her hair, forcing out the words that were mostly true. "There isn't anything left there for me. I only have what is here."

Her eyes softened as she looked at him, the tears fading. "I would prefer to not have to hide it anymore. I just... I need to practice with it more." Then with a light smile, she gently pushed herself away from his chest, "But for now, I need to work on my cooking." Standing before the stove now, she stirred at it, feeling the last of her desires to go home fade into the little whirlpool she'd made. She looked over her shoulder, and in her thick accent, in Kvaren, "Thank you, Asher," accompanied by a genuine smile.

After a bit, the stew was ready, and she ladled it into bowls, handing one to Asher, "I hope it's okay. Would you mind telling me more about this..." she used the Kvaren word for "Gathering?"

A troubled frown crossed Asher's face as Verissa tucked herself against him, her palms light against his built chest. How long had it been since he had held someone like this? The answer was 'a very long time'. He felt responsible for Verissa, protective, both qualities he considered good for a man in charge of a slave. But he didn't think of her that way, not really. He realized with a jolt that made his back stiffen that whatever these feelings were, they were close, dangerously so, to the way he had felt about Wren. And as soon as that connection was made, Asher felt a slimy shiver of guilt settle in his chest. What was he doing?

Thankfully, Verissa chose that moment to pull away, the mixed-herb scent of her hair lingering in his nostrils, his teeth gritted as he struggled with his emotions. Why were women so difficult to deal with? Exhausting himself through training and meeting the other tribe leaders to discuss day-to-day tactics and camp house-keeping was so much easier.

He swallowed and moved to sit back down where Verissa had put him before, his scarred eyebrow giving his face a grim expression. "I'm glad you feel that way. Talk to Shenzi. If she can't help you practice, she might know someone who can. It would be wise to ask around at the Gathering since there will be so many people."

He couldn't help but smile, his brooding banished temporarily by a beautiful smile on her face, the first he had ever seen. It suited her so much better than the haunting fear. "You're getting better at our words. We'll have to practice the hand-signals as well."

He took the food, automatically peering into the bowl to guess at the ingredients. He loved to cook, but it was proving to be fun letting her handle it tonight. "The Tribes are always on the move," he explained, slurping a little at the hot stew, nodding silently in appreciation of the robust taste. "Not only do we not believe in settling in one place, it's not a wise move on the grasslands. There are always Kvaren traveling between the tribes, but twice every year, we all come together at a massive Gathering. It's a way for us to share news, trade goods, settle disputes. There are a lot of ceremonies that wait until then. Marriages, memorial bonfires, naming rites for babies. The Hunt can be taken any time of year but many youngsters will wait to take it during a Gathering because the prestige of returning triumphant is greater. Fighters who have slain a Knight are honoured, and rank sashes and pins are thrown in a great bonfire." He gave her a pointed look, as he had returned with one himself. "Anyone who has killed a Sergeant Knight and returned with the sash and the body is considered strong enough to start a new tribe. It's much like one of your festivals. There is lots of drinking, lots of music and dancing, lots of...sex." He had been looking down at his bowl, but there was a liquid steel flash as he glanced up at that. "The Swordmasters and Shadewalkers host training for those who want to be like us. Craftsmen will hold their own competitions. Those in charge of the herds will lend each other their stallions and bulls for breeding. It's just a way for us to take advantage of having everyone all together, and when it's over we all go our separate ways again."

Verissa had listened intently, realizing just how important Shenzi was. The blonde herbalist knew the woman to be quite knowledgeable and experienced, but something about her made Verissa think that there was a lot more than what was seen, which was already formidable. She would definitely seek her out at a later time. She continued to struggle to keep up with the language that Asher spewed forth, nearly forgetting that there were hand signals as well that she'd have to learn.

When Asher tried her stew, and nodded in what she assumed was approval, she smiled lightly. At least she'd managed to do that much, even if she'd startled him earlier. If this was to be their life, it wasn't so bad. She could practice her trade, her magic, take care of people, be... free. Truly so. And the life of a Scre... Kvaren didn't seem boring.

When he started on the Gathering, she sat down across from him, and began to eat heartily at her stew, not realizing just how hungry she was. She heard a little rustling and saw her pups nearby, shaming herself at nearly forgetting them, caught up in all the emotion of the recent moment. She stood up, filling the last bowl, a larger one, with much of the stew, sitting it down on the ground. The pups looked at her, before she smiled and nodded at them. They approached, sniffed at the food, and began eating heartily while she cooed at them and scratched their heads.

Returning to her own seat, she was still listening to Asher, hearing about the rituals and protocols she'd have to learn. The Gathering did sound very much like a festival back in Ebonfort. But when he glanced up at her, at his words, she found her throat tightening as she was taken by surprise. Her face flushed a deep crimson and she buried her eyes in her stew. As the bowl emptied, Verissa noticed that it was growing colder and colder, a bit more so than the previous night. It was then she realized she'd packed away her own bedding earlier, but not Asher's. Gulping deeply, she didn't know what to ask. She didn't even realize her eyes were locked on her empty sleeping space, as the words spilled out.

"I don't have... I packed..."

Her face showed her evident nervousness, before she took a deep breath, "Can I... stay with you tonight?" Her stomach tightened at the thought, but there was some reassurance that he'd said he'd never force himself upon her. But she needed to be practical, to be realistic, to be... Kvaren. And Kvaren don't freeze to death out of fear or stubbornness. Her eyes were still down cast as the moved their way back to the table in front of her, unable to find Asher's. She hoped he didn't assume this was permission for him to do... as he pleased, if he so did.

Something about the creep of bright red across Verissa's cheekbones was endearing to Asher. Not that he'd meant to embarrass her, of course, or frighten her, but the Swordmaster knew she'd never known the touch of a man and the fact that just talking about it made her flush pink was a little fun.

The hungry fighter lapsed into silence, busily and wolfishly inhaling his stew. His eyes tracked Verissa when she got up to feed her pups, already used to seeing the grayish shapes lurking at the edge of his vision whenever he was with Verissa. Asher knew that the older children already had eyes for Remilia, hoping for a pup like her whenever the bitch whelped her first litter. Smirking privately, Asher imagined that feisty Verissa might have something to say about that.

Finishing first, Asher got up to clean up the rest of the meal, absentmindedly and automatically doing the dishes. It was very nice to have someone to cook for him, but it would take more time for him to relinquish control of all the daily chores to Verissa. Thinking about her, he wished he was a younger man. No, perhaps not younger, because he wasn't old, but definitely without so much loss behind him. He missed Wren every day, but if it wasn't for that...if it wasn't for the fact that he'd already looked across the table while sharing meals with a blushing virgin with plans to wed and bed her...he might have been more open to the idea of trying to win Verissa over, even before she went on the Hunt. But he'd been through all that once and had never wanted to do it again.

And that's when she pointed out that they had already packed her bedroll, leaving his as the only one in the pavilion. They'd have to share. Asher groaned inwardly, cursing himself for not noticing that they had packed it, knowing that they would have to unpack half the cart to get to it. They'd have to share tonight. Oooh boy.

Clearing his throat, Asher abandoned the rest of the cleaning, not that there was much left, and turned to look at the beautiful blonde slave girl sitting in the middle of his tent. He wasn't blushing, but he seemed uncomfortable, though it was for a different reason than Verissa. A decade. It had been a decade since he'd had a woman in his bed. He'd told himself he never would again. And right now he couldn't tell if it was better for him or worse that she didn't want to be there either.

"I'm not expecting you to sleep on the bare floor," he said. "I should have known better than to let you pack your bedroll, I just wasn't paying attention when we tossed it in the cart. There's room enough in mine for two."

He tried to give her what he thought was a comforting smile. "Give me a few slips before you join me. Whenever you're ready." Reaching up with his uninjured hand up to run his fingers through his dark hair, he left the girl in the main part of the pavilion and ducked behind the partition.

Once hidden from view, Asher changed from his thick leather trousers into softer, more comfortable linen ones and sat down at the edge of his cot. Steely grey eyes fell on the small trunk with the shrine-like collection of mementos arranged on the top. He quickly lit the small beeswax candle and gazed unfocused at the tiny orange flame, thinking of Wren.

Normally the memories played in his head like a story, the same pattern over and over, but this time all he could see was his dead wife's smiling face, one eyebrow raised and her head shaking as she laughed at something dumb he had done. Last night he had been in tears apologizing for failing to kill Brynmore for her, but tonight he couldn't seem to focus. "I miss you," he said finally, "I never thought this could happen." He reached out to brush his fingertips along a long coppery braid of hair, bound by coloured ribbons. "I wish you were here to tell me what to do."

Sighing, he lifted the supple leather blanket with the heavier furs on top and slid his legs under, scooting to the edge of the bed closest to the thick wall of the tent, and waited. He left the candle lit, only so that Verissa could join him without stumbling in the dark.

Verissa could see in his shoulders, in his posture, that Asher was as uncomfortable with the idea of her sharing his sleeping space as she was. But it was clear that he acquiesced, if only out of practicality. He asked her to wait a bit, and she would oblige, for she needed to build up her courage as well. She watched him leave, feeling more confident that sleeping would be the only thing happening tonight. She began finishing the cleaning he'd started, washing out the dishes, giving the leftovers to the pups. She sat down on the floor, rubbing their heads, watching their cute little butts and tails wag happily. When they finished, they waited patiently, looking at her. She smiled and nodded, and they hopped into her lap, licking at her face and neck as she rubbed and hugged them. "I love you two. We'll always be family, always take care of each other. Let's get to bed."

She stood up, feeling butterflies pounding around inside her stomach. She gulped heavily, taking step after slow step toward Asher's area. She slipped in, seeing Asher shirtless against the wall, covered by furs. A slight flush filled her cheeks, for even with his bandages, even with her trepidation, she couldn't help but admire his scar covered, strong body. And this made her butterflies flap even stronger. She moved over to her side, and turned to face away from him. She reached down and slipped out of her boots, stretching her toes, wincing at the soreness in her thighs and back. Standing up fully, she looked over her shoulder at him, hoping he'd look away, as she slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap on the floor, leaving her in the thinnest of slips.

Stepping out of the pile, Verissa crouched picking up her things and making a nice neat pile in the corner. She then sat upon the sleeping space, her back to Asher, as she scooted in far enough to be comfortable, but not close enough to touch him. She stayed on her side, as she pulled the blanket over her, finding it surprising just how much warmer the blankets of the Kvaren were compared to those back in Ebonfort. Her pups came over, Remus settling in next to her as always, with Remilia between her and the door. Everything was set. As her most spoken phrase in Kvaren, she whispered, "Thank you, Asher."

And with that, she laid there, listening to him breathe, the strong, powerful sounds. She was waiting, waiting until she was convinced that he was asleep, before she fully relaxed, to drift off on her own. She didn't remember when it happened, but eventually, the darkness took over, and Verissa slipped into a more comfortable sleep than the night before.

It was the sound of a crowing rooster that first roused Asher from the depths of sleep. For once he had made it through the night without his dreams being disturbed by the agonizing sense of loss that had plagued him for years. He had slept well and his bed was comfortable, and there was someone warm and soft beside him. Still lingering in that dozy half-sleep, Ash rolled over and pressed close to that soft, shapely someone in his bed. She fit neatly in his bare-chested embrace, his injured shoulder up so that his arm could drape over her waist, fingers twitching reflexively against her lower belly. Burying his nose in her hair, he inhaled deeply. It was a comforting smell. Womanly and mixed with flowers and...herbs.

Asher's eyes snapped open, his gaze staring blearily into the tousle of blonde hair inches from his face. Oops.

The day began awkwardly from there but once they were both up and dressed, things settled into a fast-paced but fairly predictable course. Together, Asher and Verissa packed up the rest of their (his) things and packed them into the cart, the last of which was the tent itself. It had the be folded just right, the long wooden support poles bundled together and lashed on top of the pile.

The Thunderfang camp was so large that once the first wagon and team of outriders started away on the dusty track that was as much a road as existed in the Kerawac, it was nearly two hours before the last one left the messy bare swath of earth. The signs of habitation were little more than discarded broken crates and tent poles, scraps of leather, and the scorched earth under now-dead fires. All of these would be reclaimed by the grass in a matter of a season or two.

At first, Asher steered the draft mule himself, sitting on the bench seat next to Verissa while Phantom trailed along behind on a pony line. But after patiently and methodically explaining to her how to use the reigns, which was pretty much the same as when riding, he mounted the gray mare and joined the scouts, riding up and down the line to protect the caravan and help when needed. The only hard part about Trix's task would be the seat she sat on. The mule steadfastly followed the back of the cart ahead, not really needing much guidance, except for when a particularly verdant patch of grass grew on the verge, which caused it to stop for a bite and required Verissa to put it back in line again.

The trail was dusty, long plumes billowing the hooves of the horses and the wheels of the carts, raising a gritty cloud over them for most of the day. At night the tribe slept in the same line as the order they had walked, congregating loosely with many small campfires blossoming out of the dead winter grass. It was good weather to start grass fires, so many went without.

And instead of putting up his huge tent, Asher blocked the wind out with crates and pulled Verissa under the cart with him to sleep, bundling them thickly against the cold.

The journey took several weeks, the land sloping and rising aain, and ever covered in the waving grasses. Occasionally there would be something interesting to see, such as a copse of trees or a lake, but after a while it just seemed that the valley was endless. the Thunderfang tribe was not nearly the first to arrive at the Gathering Place, but as they staked out a spot for them on the grassy plain, they nearly doubled the size of the existing congregation. The festive atmosphere was infectious, and Asher found himself nearly bubbling over with excitement as he lead Verissa through the colourful tents and strange faces. He reunited with old friends and was introduced to new spouses and babies and even slaves that had made a name for themselves. The gathering of the chieftains was held in a monstrous tent. Like Asher had said it would be, the Gathering was full of music and dancing and delicious food. Tribes traded news, slaves, and goods. Children played elaborate games that put them underfoot and different packs of dogs intermingled, humping all over the place. Shenzi and the other Healers made it clear to Verissa that she was expected to join them to help teach others. It wasn't all good, however. Several tribes had battles and there were fights between both sober and drunken revelers. There was much news about cities in the west, and the Thunderfangs enjoyed quite a bit of fame for their successful raid on Ruby Banks. Every day was a whirlwind, and Asher didn't always insist on Verissa being by his side. Here at the Gathering it would be even more clear to her that her own behaviour and skill reflected well on him, especially when he had her wear the wolftooth pendant that hung down to the center of her chest. Asher's arm healed quickly, and he was able to take the bandages off for the training of the youngsters.

It was the day after the Crimson Vines left that the Dance began. It was unofficially known as a sort of Bachelor night, because the wedding ceremonies would be held the following day. Night fell and a huge bonfire was started somewhat away from the groupings of tents, and everyone able to play an instrument was doing their best to get everyone riled up. The drums boomed hard and fast.

Asher was sitting on a half barrel that had been turned into a bench, drinking ale from a wooden cup as the heat from the fire washed reddish across his face. A pair of identical tattooed Swordmasters from another tribe was sitting near him, talking about a woman they had shared the night before.

"Wait wait...a dragonkin? You're full of shit, Miles."

Whatever retort the twins might have had was lost, because a trio of young women drifted by, wearing little more than coloured scarfs tied in ways that barely hid the essentials, and would float and swirl enticingly as they danced to the heavy pace of the drums. Watching them go with his head tilted a little, a wistful smile on his features, the broody Asher let his eyes dart through the crowds, looking for Verissa.