dancer extraordinaire

rest well

Ralph & Russo

The small Xaela woman perched on the low wall, strumming a cheery tune on her lyre. It was an old song, one her mother had sung to her often as a child, before she would leave on a lengthy hunt. Qara had known all the words before she could walk, and now she sang them just as easily as she had then. She sung the words in her native tongue - something that had more benefits than drawbacks. Folks, she had discovered, loved an attraction as exotic as she could be when she put a little effort into it. And, of course, the rhyme scheme simply fell apart in translation.

Her voice was not as rich as her mother’s, but it was as lovely, in its own way. Enough to draw a small crowd who happily threw their spare gil at her feet when she finished her song. She murmured her thanks (as insincere as it was - how much had she made? Barely enough to buy a drink at the tavern) as she hopped off her wall to scoop up the coins.

Her gaze, when she straightened, fell on a lone figure across the square. Frowning, lyre still in hand, she strutted across the square, closing the distance between them. Hands on her hips, she looked the Xaela male up and down, a disapproving look on her face.

“Do you not appreciate the arts, then?” She plucked a few notes on the instrument, searching for the one that struck her. “Or would you like to hear something a little slower? Darker? Shall I play a song just for you?”

Zuhair Murad