Ridahne was surprised by Darin's mood. She realized upon a little reflection that she shouldn't be--this was just like home for her. These were her people. But still, it surprised her all the same when the human gleefully took her hand and all but dragged her into her seat. She couldn't help a tiny, tiny smile. Well, at least one of them didn't feel like a complete outsider. It wasn't anyone's fault either, that was just how Ridahne reacted to large gatherings like this. If they had set them a table with Ravi and maybe two or three others and a modest meal, she might have been perfectly at ease. Here, with this bountiful spread and exuberant cheer and many voices, she was out of her element and it showed. 

Again, she defaulted to a kind of forced composure that read more as aloof than nervous, but the closer one got to her, the more they could see her unease. She'd warm up to it eventually, she told herself. But it was just so...overwhelming! It didn't make it bad, though, just...a lot. She grew up on bread, rice, fish, and lean, hunted meats from the desert. Fruits, sweets, and fresh vegetables were foreign delicacies to her as a child. Even as an adult, she couldn't ignore the novelty of them. 

Darin thrust a plate at her and was throwing things onto it with a kind of joy that was almost childlike in its purity, in its genuine honesty. She was waving and smiling and looking positively radiant in such an easy way that Ridahne almost felt a touch of gentle jealousy. In comparison, if Ridahne was a dog, her ears would be pinned flat against her lowered head and her tail hanging stiffly between her legs. Not only was the whole affair a lot to process, but it was the first time she had been so...public since her fall from grace. She did not fear the occasional glances of Tax, whom she knew understood her plight. But there were other Azurei, and though they were all acolytes of the Tree and saw her current purpose as far more than she ever was before this, she could feel their curiosity as they looked at her. The mark on her forehead signaled 'treason of a high degree' but it did not specify what she'd done exactly. But word had also reached their ears of events back home. The unprecedented situation of both a Sol and her apprentice being killed, and the remaining Sols having to choose one on short notice, was not small news, and every Azurei in Astra would know about it by now. All of them had the same question in their eyes. 

[I]Was it you?[/i]

But as she sat there, her plate piled high and her clay mug full of that light, fragrant mead, something deep within her, that flame that made her [I]Isfahan[/I], Fireheart, blazed. She felt suddenly a fierce defiance. [I]You are not an exile. You are Ridahne. You are guardian of the Seed-Bearer.[/I] And, staring directly into the eyes of one of the Azurei looking at her, she took a long, very purposeful pull from her mug. Her demeanor seemed to shift from beaten dog to prowling wolf, and she finally began to eat. Really, she was thankful that Darin was putting things on her plate for her. She genuinely didn't know where to start otherwise, and never would have put that much on her plate by herself unless cajoled into it. 

The food was incredible. The flavors ranged from sweet, savory, spicy, salty, earthy, from rich to light, from robust to delicate. She had never seen such a diverse spread of cultures in one place. And the mead did a little to put her at ease, too. She welcomed the flavors of home with relish, but was equally curious about the things that she did not recognize. And like the dusty Atakharan-region kid she was at heart, Ridahne ate anything that was put on her plate for as long as things were put there.  The only thing she actually took from the table herself was a pitcher of a semi-clear, fragrant beverage that she knew at once. Ridahne took it at once and filled two small cups, one for her and one for Darin, which she pushed into her hand with the same kind of enthusiasm that Darin had shown her a moment ago. 

"Here! You have to try this!" She actually smiled. "Don't worry, there's no alcohol. But it is strong in flavor." The drink smelled sharp and acidic, but not in an unpleasant way, and it undoubtedly was made with several different kinds of herbs, the most recognizable of which was lavender, but there was also mint and something else decidedly floral. "Do you have lemons this far north? I have not seen them. This is lemons and herbs brewed with a little honey. Where you are from, you do...this.." she tapped her little wooden cup against hers. "But where I come from, we do this..." She slapped it against the wooden table then drank, and there was a faint echo around the room of the noise as several other Azurei did the same. The flavor was at once sharp and sweet, sour and floral, bright and complex. 

Ridahne was in a better mood now, less awkward looking and a bit more at ease. But she was not prepared for Darin taking her hand and practically dragging her off to dance. She smiled but said, "Ai! Wait! I don't know how!" She did not say the she could not dance, for that was untrue. She could. But she had no idea how people danced here and to music like that. Still, she allowed herself to be led away to an open space where people were dancing. And Ridahne Torzinei, fierce warrior, Hand of Death, mystical moonlit forest sprite and slayer of royalty, was blushing. It was harder to tell on her dark, inked skin, but there it was all the same. Still, she was smiling a bit. "I'm too tall for you, Darin! What do I--how..." But she followed Darin's guidance and tried to match what she was doing, and though she was not very poetic about it, she did make it through. 

A new song started to play, one with more drums and without fiddles, and Ridahne gave a mock-wicked grin. "My turn," she said deviously, and pulled Darin into a now forming line. Most were Auzurei, but there were plenty of others who knew the dance as well. They did not dance 'together' necessarily, but more in sync with each other, and instead of bouncing and twirling and skipping and dipping like some other dance styles, it was much more controlled, much more sharp and precise. There was some chanting involved, a kind of call and response that resonated deeply through the hall. And the dance style could be called nothing but 'percussive'. Everything was in time with the heavy drum beats--hard footfalls, the chanting, hand movements, and occasional slapping of the arms, which echoed through the hall with a stirring crack. And suddenly Ridahne felt as much at home as Darin had been this whole time.