Setting
His stature and manner of dress reminded her of a misty specter or whirling fog, the way his robes seemed to sway in the light breezes that graced the village. This caused her to recall the ghost stories she had heard as a child. Of course those weren't anything founded in reality, they were simply to keep her running out into the fields at nighttime, which could be dangerous in the small village that became so dark at sundown.
Why was he speaking to her? Did he think she was some sort of tavern wench or barmaid? If not he must have been up to something sinister, men who came so late into the village could be dangerous for young women like Philomela. Although, she knew the stables where Dion slept were nearby and if that scoundrel had even a pinch of honor he'd come running if she screamed. Still, she wouldn't make that assumption before attempting conversation.
Philomela curtsied demurely before lifting her voice, which was almost as musical as her song, the words softly spoken "Good evening sir, It is a rather late hour for one to be traveling alone in a strange land, is it not?" She had let him know that she was privy to the fact he was obviously not from Anthiro. She answered his question politely, but still was unsure of the man. Her name was one that rolled off the tongue with ease, perfect for a performer. "I am Called Philomela Flos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir." Philomela was trying not to be abrupt with him, but she knew not of his purpose there and was unsure of his presence, it made her somewhat uneasy.
The girl looked almost like a snow drop on tree bark, leaning there against the worn and dark wood that made up the taverns walls, she wore a light toga-like dress draped about her slender figure, hugging her waist with a bunch of ribbony golden fabric wound about the middle. Her attire, to say the least, was very different from Larloch's. She was curious to know, if he were some sort of mage from Omperus. Perhaps the man was simply passing through Anthiro, in that case she'd try to help him "Could it be that you have lost your way? Or perhaps you seek a bed for the night?" Philomela was sure he saw that they stood outside an Inn so she made no mention of it. If he had coin enough she was sure he'd stay at The Dirty Fox, if not maybe they'd allow him to sleep in the stables with Dion, Philomela wondered if he could hear their conversation from where he slept.
She set the book down ‘The Clans of the Desert’, a novel of outdated essays by explorers in Tulban, on the table beside her and blew out the candle. She retrieved her cloak from the hook beside the door and inspected herself in the small mirror which also hung on the wall; she tried to tame her curly black hair down with a few strokes of her fingers to no avail and headed out.
Argenta and her father lived rather isolated, their house was tucked at the back of their vineyard and it was a short walk down a gravelly road before she made it to the main road into the village. First on the way into the village she passed the blacksmiths’ workshop. To her dismay she did not see Damon when she looked into the shop, but it was very late anyways so she didn’t even know why she bothered.
It was only a minute more when she walked into the village where the Dirty Fox was centrally located in Anthiro. It was the only place opened this late at night and it was one of the only sources of light around. She stopped a few feet away, taking notice of a familiar young blonde woman standing just outside the tavern: Philomela. She always wore a posh toga and walked as if she was on air, which Argenta admitted to herself she wished she could pull off both. Philomela was always at the center of dirty gossip of the village girls that Argenta never gave any credence to; but what she was seeing before her was damning.
Argenta clutched the fabric of her blue dress nervously and trotted on by. It was not any of her business what Philomela did and she tried to keep her gaze concentrated on her feet as she went by. She only stole a glance at the suspicious stranger Philomela was talking too. He was young looking but had silver hair, dressed in strange black attire, and was even taller than Argenta herself. Very few people matched Argenta’s height except for a few young men in town; this made her worry for Philomela who was petite in comparison. Perhaps she should intervene, but she continued into the tavern.
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