CHILDREN OF THE MIST
She sensed his mind discreetly touch hers and realized he was staring at her keenly. She turned back to face him, returning his questioning glance and studying him in turn. Taller than average, and broad-shouldered, today he wore a sleeveless, belted leather shirt over thick breeches, with long, icecat-wool lined boots. His upper arms were well muscled, his skin tanned as if he were used to working outdoors. His curly, dark auburn hair, kept away from his face with a plain leather band, reached almost to his shoulders. It caught the sun’s rays and gleamed like the polished dark red wood of the trees that flanked the feet of the mountains.
She took in his clear, hazel eyes, with their friendly twinkle, the long, straight nose, strong jaw line and smiling mouth. He would have been fighting off the local unattached young women if the situation they found themselves in were not so serious. Not that she was particularly interested in his looks, or those of any other man, for that matter.
No, something else about Vidarh of Ragnak excited her curiosity.
It’s about yesterday.