Quest for the Lyre of Orphaeo

[Philomel]

Philomel felt a slight amount of chagrin rise when the suave man, with the grace of a nobleman and the presence that could only be described as 'gentlemanly,' gifted her with the succulent flower. Eyelashes immediately fluttered, but not in a flirtacious way, more confused than anything - stunned. Her lips parted to say something, but no sound emerged as she tried to understand what she had just felt.

Flattered. Was that really it? She honestly felt flattered. Rarely before had she ever felt such an emotion as this. Curious and sweet, the sense of laudation was different from being admired or simply praised. There was a certain beauty and romance attached to it, all enhanced by the courteous nature of this singular man.

Her eyes glanced down to the soft fabric before her, trying to rid herself of the rose-tinted blush before it let her duty escape her. After all, she was here as a represenative of her goddess, and admiration was all good but it could not distract her or allow her to drop her guard. After all, this was the Red Forest, and in here spirits still raged like demons of old. Slowly taking in her breath she allowed herself the time to run a hand over the folded material before her, and calm the emotions that were quickly morphing into embarressment.

Fast, she swallowed, and her hand gripped the cloak as she forced her eyes back up, that moment of bashfulness dying away. Incling her head she instilled authority and strength back into her form and smiled simply at the man, once more cross legged before her.

"I thank you for this gift, Breaker of Survani," she conveyed in a capable tone. "It is one of beauty, and it is formed maginificently."

Carefully she unwrapped the cloak from its folds her on her lap and stood in with effortless ease. She swung the cloak around her back and over her shoulders, allowing time for it to fall to the ground. Perfect in size it brushed the top of her pasterns and shimmered with a glorious essence that reminded her somehow of the majesty of Drys. It was clear to her that it was the nature of the area around them, as well as the very flowers they pressed hoof and foot upon that made it so. She watched also the pool of water dying away, merging back with the soil and it came to her mind that Survani was more than a desert diety, but rather also a lifebringer in soul. Where Drys had fruits, she had oases as her gift to the world, and where Drys had roots she had the channels of water running through the Fallien wilderness. This was a gift, but no ordinary gift - it was the merging of two natures, two goddesses, two civilisations.

Slowly, once more with a fast beating heart and feeling the flattery rice again Philomel sat, this time not able to contain the tints of red to her face, the small gatherings of tears in the corners of her eyes. She nodded once more to Breaker and thanked him with a quiet voice.

"We should rest now, though" she said, "come morning we need to leave as dawn breaks and set as far as we can west. The lyre must be found before it falls into enemy hands. Until then," she fixed him with a steady but indebted-converying gaze, "I will thank you again."