The walls were made of brick — bricks made of dried mud, not the kiln-fired bricks I was used to. From my position tied between two of the Rul, the ...tructures seemed towering in contrast to the narrow streets leading inward and upward to the center of the city. My state of consciousness didn't allow for much keen observation, so I wasn't sure if the impression was true or not. My weapons hadn't been touched, nor had my cloak or the travel pack slung over my shoulder. I hadn't been touched, or. As Kincaid melded his story to slowly enfolding Ada to him under the blanket, he reasoned in whispers that they would be so much more comfortable making maximum use of their shared body heat. And Ada, lost in his storytelling believed him and melted into him. The story was sad and poignant all at the same time and Ada was crying. Kincaid kissed her tears away. And he kissed her cheeks. And he kissed her lips. He told her not to cry, in that mesmerizing poetic baritone voice of his. He told her. More

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