“I bribed Karisha,” he admitted with a small grin. “She also told me that you are an artist and very good with maths.”
“It doesn’t seem fair that you have helpers. You know three things about me, and I didn’t even tell them to you,” I retorted, partly displeased that we barely started our first real conversation and he already had the upper hand on me.
Dahr nodded, then took a few seconds to think while I continued looking at him and chewing on strawberries.
“My favourite colour is green. I don’t like to eat a lot in the mornings, a full stomach makes me slower in training.” He blinked and looked at me, while I analysed both his words and the massive breakfast offering in front of me. Which meant, this had been brought for my benefit rather than his.
“And?” I pushed, desperate for a third detail.
“I don’t enjoy fighting with a sword as much as I do with a dagger,” he said, to my disappointment.
But the pleased smile on his face made me realise that he was actually trying. He was telling me things that were important to him, even though I did not truly consider them as such. It was my job to catch the seeds he was letting fall and push the conversation into a blooming flower.
“I don’t think I could even hold a sword,” I confessed, doing my best to stay on topic. “Isn’t it really difficult to manoeuvre?”
“Not as difficult as mathematics,” he chuckled. “Karisha thinks you have superpowers.”
“Maybe I do,” I giggled and dived into the bountiful breakfast.
We both took a long time to enjoy the food, stopping once in a while to either make a comment, offer the other a chance to try a specific food or ask a question or two. Dahr seemed relaxed, maybe for the very first time since I met him. His shoulder blades weren’t in constant tension and his back arched slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table.
As usual, he didn’t wear his vest and preferred to display his taut muscles and delicious torso, along with all the tattoos and battle marks his daily training sessions left on his skin. Giving me an up-close front row view of his pecs and his sculpted abs.
“Do your tattoos really change?” I spat out the question without thinking, too focused on the way his muscles stretched and relaxed with every move.
“They do,” Dahr confirmed before taking a long sip of water from his mug. “I don’t choose the designs; they appear according to the last use of my power.”
I took a second to observe the side of his neck and shoulders, where the line of designs was visible from where he was sitting in front of me, trailing the long line of flames that covered his skin.
“Do you use your powers when you are fighting?” I questioned, desperate to know more about him. Desperate to get a grasp of his daily routine, of his motivation and maybe even a peak into his life. Even though we were talking as if we were old friends, as though we knew each other since the beginning of time, I still did not know much about him.
“We fight once a month, usually on the last day.” Dahr's inky eyes widened then, only for a moment, a barely noticeable movement, as if he just then realised whom he was speaking to. “The rest of the days are reserved for training and sparring,” he finished the observation in a curt tone.
I wanted to pose a follow-up question, but he took the lead this time. “What about you?”
“Me?” I snickered. “I don’t do much. I spent most of my life studying, reading books and analysing other people’s work, with the hope that one day I will be able to also create a masterpiece. I am a teacher and a sculptor and currently working on my PhD, but…” I stopped to take a breath, realising how empty the purpose of my life sounded. “There’s not much excitement going on with my life,” I admitted, then clarified. “I don’t know how to fight.”
Dahr looked at me as if this little summary of nothingness was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard. “Would you like to?” he offered after a long pause.
“Like to… what?” I asked.
“I can teach you how to fight. In return, you can teach me all about your statues and your gods,” the warrior offered.
I released a deep laugh then, imagining someone as flaky as myself on the battlefield. I wouldn’t stand a chance. Not only because of my sickly nature, but because I would probably throw my weapon away and start running in the other direction.
“I probably needed that three years ago when I started teaching. You can’t even imagine how savage middle-graders can be,” I started grinning at the memory of my first day of class. I had been terrified to stand in front of twenty twelve-year-olds and had so much anxiety that I spent three days with diarrhoea after the event. I had never thought I could face something as bad as my dissertation paper presentation but put me in a room with some kids and expect me to command authority and I was done for.
When I told Dahr about my very first day of school he laughed so hard that he snorted into his coffee, splashing it all over and then proceeded to tell me about his very first fight, where he was so scared that he tried to run away from the camp.
His story didn’t end up as well as mine, however. I had to return to the class over and over and see those kids grow, while he was caught, punished and forced into battle.
“Is your lazy ass avoiding training again?” Markos’ voice protruded through the tent and interrupted our chatter.
The tribe leader’s feet remained pinned to the ground, his body frozen in place at the sight of Dahr and I, casually sharing breakfast and probably wasting a long time doing so, by the sounds of it. Markos’ head shook slightly, his gaze moving from me, to Dahr, then back to me. I knew, without him having to say it, that I was in big trouble. Fortunately, it was Dahr who took the lead.
“Nora and I were just finishing breakfast, you are welcome to join,” the warrior replied and grabbed his mug to take another sip of coffee to enforce the message.
“Nora…” Markos repeated, and it seemed that both he and I focused on the same thing. Though, I doubted his heart fluttered at the sound of my name on Dahr’s lips, like mine did.
