Rayadell watched Calanon return to the fire after tending to his animal companion. Her expression unwavering in its impassive façade, she allowed herself a moment to admire the way the flames and shadows waltzed over his lean features with each flicker of firelight, focusing on the play of light and dark. 
	Thought the cold did not bother her much, the heat rising from the fire to where she stood was welcomed as Calanon warmed his hands. She looked back to the hypnotic flames as he commented about the tree spirit. She only jerked her head up in a nod of acknowledgement. They were everywhere, tree spirits, but normally shy creatures. Creatures as frightened of the dark aura about her as horses or the trees themselves.
	Rayadell felt his gaze on her after she asked her question, but she did not return it, rather keeping him in her peripherals. A silence fell between them, turning the two into living statues, the only sign of life that of the lively flames and the hungry Elk. When at last Calanon moved again, Rayadell’s gaze flicked to him as he unwrapped what she had mistaken as bandages from his arm.
	She inhaled and her chin rose at the first sight of the magically charred skin beneath, an unnerving aura radiating from it without the protection of the fabric. She glanced to him as he gave his quick explanation, before following his stare back to his arm.
	She let another, short silence fall between them once he finished, broken only by the crackle of the flames eating away at its wood. He, too, was cursed, forced to hide the mark of it as she hid the effects of her own. Which left the question of [i]how[/i] the Carishes had found them. As trustworthy as the couple seemed, years of forcing herself to focus on the emotions Calanon was forced to avoid, of always looking over her shoulder and training herself to trust very few, suspicion about the two and their daughter nagged at her.
	“They’ve offered [i]both[/i] of us a cure, then,” she finally said in her usual monotone. Her jaw set. Seeing no harm in it, she slowly reached up and brushed back the black-tipped white hair draped over her face. She hooked it behind her pointed ear.
	Elegant, swirling lines created a filigree pattern over her pale skin from the corner of her left eye to her jawbone. At first glance, it seemed little more than a silvery tattoo that shone in the firelight, until she turned her head just right. Specks of sickly black glittered amidst the silver, eliminating any illusion of intended elegance in the pattern. It was a mark, the binding element, and an eternal reminder of her own curse. Should he choose to focus on it, an unsettling air would reach to him, like the evil aura of an infuriated sorceress.
	Without offering any further explanation, once Calanon had time to see it, she fingered her hair so it fell back in place, concealing the mark once more. She looked back to the flames, a sense of sorrow and pure hatred flashing in her eyes.