Alina batted starlike eyelashes over the sudsy rim of her mug, smiling broadly at her savior’s Fallieni. Ignoring the frequent and rather adorable errors, the raven-haired woman had a firm grasp on the language. Certainly she spoke it better than Alina spoke Tradespeak. The dancer did her best to avoid verbs when communicating in the foreign tongue, knowing she would employ them hopelessly wrong.

“Briar-heart.” She rolled the new word around her palate as she examined the four-eyed being. The being examined her right back. Alina cocked her head to one side, and the masked face followed suit. Alina sipped her ale, and the briarheart did the same. Alina raised a palm and pressed it forward, and the vine-creature mirrored her action until their hands met.

The briarheart’s palm felt cool with damp, viney grooves, but still very much alive. The Fallieni woman gasped and drew her hand back. She did not know what she’d been expecting. A nervous giggle escaped her lips and she took another draught of ale.

“That is amazing,” she said in her mother tongue, addressing both the briarheart and her multi-lingual companion, “so she is a hybrid of human and plant? My land is known for its hybrid creatures. Are you a shaman, or an alchemist?” In Fallien, such folk wore special tattoos and jewelry to denote their station. Alina wondered if perhaps the vest-and-pants were a uniform for alchemists in Corone.

The dancer took another long pull of ale. She had already drained half of her second mug, and a flighty feeling buzzed around her brain. She heard the word “magic” pass several times between the little singer and the soft-cheeked boy, and glanced their way, wanting to join in the conversation but unsure how. Instead she looked expectantly back at the spindly shaman, awaiting a response.