(Untitled)

[white_flowers]

"We must meet, and soon, my dear."The strange whisper had floated to her ears even before she had returned to the bar, sifting down between past and present in that space which is no space. No more than a whisper, carried on a wind of its own, and with an odd hint of some spice wafting through the air-not air where she had been

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[majereblack]

There is a man, in robes of ebony velvet, that swallow shadow like the thirsty gulps water. He sits on a log; a fire has a camp-pot over it, and there is waterskin, a few packets of spices, and odds and ends assorted here.

It is, Raistlin reflects, missing only Caramon's growling stomach to complete this nostalgic scene from the past.

"Stew? The rabbit is fresh." But his hands are clean of blood, and there is no hareskin here now. To whit, the stew is spiced; bubbling with meat, potatoes nd greens, it smells enticingly of marjoram.

[white_flowers]

The sound of his voice stops her first, and then the scent floats on the air.

Blodwen smiles, slowly, as she looks at him.

"Why, and it is kind indeed of you to invite a stranger to share your meal, cariad."

[majereblack]

"Travelers should always one another kindness. The man you meet on the road may be king or pauper," Raistlin observes.

He ladels stew into crude traveling bowls, with rough dinnerware a humble thing against a hand that glitters a near metallic gold.

He extends one to Blodwen with a thin smile.

[white_flowers]

She smiles sweetly back as she accepts it from him, and takes a seat on another nearby log. The pristine white cloak drapes silently and easily around her as she does so.

"Among other things," Blodwen observes. The light soft voice is warm and seemingly kind, while ice-blue eyes are bright.

"You yourself, for instance -- my goodness, but you are not like any king or pauper that I have met."