He catches her hand this time when she aims to withdraw from that tap: her assault, repeated, is now too well anticipated. Yet there is no roughness to it. Held only for a knowing beat, and then set free.

Any further foolishness would only prove painful for them both, in ways he'd care not to consider in unguarded gloom.

“Sooner?” Gabranth asks, unable to comprehend how his presence might make anything but trouble for a younger Jone. A woman he imagines much more inclined to roam under the determined weight of her own unbridled will.

“Without common cause, I would only have taxed you, Daughter of Denerim.”