Henry’s comforting palm against her cheek was a mercy more telling than any man had revealed to her before.

Her mother had often shown her this kindness, taking the time to wipe her tears away and hold her close, because the lives they lead were marred with cruelty. She had understood how her daughter felt. Abel was a man who had bestowed her life with wonderful new experiences. There was one time this gesture of kindness would have been welcome from him, but he had to depart and chose to support her in a different way.

The minstrel reached out to her himself, gently touching her face and clearing her cheek of tears. She’d had to cross the known world to find someone willing to comfort her like this.

Yvonne’s breathing ceased.

Closing her achromatic eyes she delicately settled the black skin of her cheek against his hold. It was such a simple, tender gesture - it took but a moment of one’s time, but conveyed more than words could - explained and proved so much about a human. Words could be lies and even facial expressions could be feigned, but to fake a comforting hand such as this? It was impossible, unprecedented. Indifference was perhaps the most difficult quality to conceal of all. Henry proved he was a compassionate, kind soul in that instant. So many of her assumptions became truths.

The teary-eyed woman inhaled again, her breath still catching as his one-liner punchline took her completely by surprise. Her lips gaped, closed, opened to riposte him again, but her form was well and truly unready. The half-and-halfling’s mind was a vulnerable whirlpool of swirling, twirling thoughts, freely flowing but unusually unprepared to pluck the one retort she needed from its vortex. She’d not met a man whom had this advantage over her, and even Henry had only acquired it during this very conversation.

Henry one, Yvonne one. Tha tally be all tied up ladies and gentlemen.

A doting smile played across her lips, broadened her cheeks. Any thought of tears, even happy tears had elapsed. Henry filled her with such fondness and warmth. She was overdue for poking fun at her poor word choice and he deserved to reclaim his ground and send her reeling. A lucid blush coloured her expression and she looked away from him temporarily, tried to gather herself and respond. No dice. She licked her lips to moisten them to speak, but that embarrassed her even more, her thoughts still swirling about his instrument.

“I didn’t mean--” she began, but it was far, far too late for redemption now and she knew it. “I only meant ye could show me how ta play. I be little, if I sat on yer lap--”

Yvonne’s silver eyes widened with emotion akin to horror. She immediately shook her head in an extremely hurried manner, mouthing the words no, no, but thankfully catching herself and erupting into giggly bliss. Who was this human who could counter-riposte her word-thrusts and disarm her so easily. This wasn’t over! She grinned at him, shaking her head in a measured, regrouping way.

“I should concede before I find myself more tha fool,” the blushing hybrid articulated, a redeeming sentence among blunders. Yvonne gratefully accepted his hand, his willing rescue from her self-inflicted embarrassment.

“If ye know how ta play a ballad, most likely I’ve listened to it at an inn somewhere between here and home,” the Alerian mused. “It always be tha slow, sentimental tunes that take me by ear. I relate with tender melodies and undertones of hope inspire me.” It wasn’t always best to simply tell a man what you wanted, but in this case she believed it would help him. The world of music was boundless, and even a fiddle was capable of sound without limit.

She continued to think back throughout her nights spent listening to bards and musicians. They were part and parcel with the career of her youth. Minstrels and innkeepers had always worked side by side, in tandem; one enlivened the spirits of travellers and the other drowned their sorrows with spirits. One lulled their minds with peaceful melodies while the other provided comforting pillows and restful beds.