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	[color=tan][b]"Komment ça çtaja?"[/b][/color] [i](How are you faring?)[/i]

	[color=silver]Leokadra scoffed. The mere fact he was to be in attendance for this charade would sour the mood of any Yuravian.[/color] 

	[b]"Naja."[/b] [i](So-so.)[/i] [color=silver]The chieftain bit his tongue. His colleague sagely nodded back, only choosing to make eye contact for as brief a moment as he could.[/color]

	[color=silver]From a strictly Yuravian perspective, Chief Leokadra's position was one of unenviable delegation; A far cry from the "honored guest" status their missive may have suggested. It might be assumed that, from their involvement in the Third Rebellion, the relations between the two might consist of nothing shy of open hostility. Yet, if to describe some affair as "bittersweet" would be to do so in a semi-positive tone, then their association could be compounded into the expression, "sour-sweet". 

	Time immemorial marked the great clash of cultures which would define Arkronian-Yuravian relations. From a fundamental standpoint, there was seemingly no pleasing the one without the expense of the other. Leokadra, the poor soul, made no effort to appear pleased at his request for attendance, for it was that Leokadra held the unanimous opinion of the Yuravian concerning Arkronian endeavors: That such constructs were a waste of time. The uniform roads, the towering spires, the rippleless gardens which laborer toiled without recourse to maintain...What manner of buffoon would think it a good idea to discard so much time to these creations? Did Mother Nature not already provide infinite order, her will of life, death, and rebirth? Did she not already give bountiful beauty in all her creations to all her children on her fair Earth? For reason undefinable, the greyskins were far too fond of their lust for domination, and so far was this psyche extended that they even incarcerated their very own lives.[/color]

	[color=tan][b]"Aç âozit?"[/b][/color] [i](Have you heard?)[/i] [color=silver]the old chief's aide murmured,[/color] [color=tan][b]"Zo prïnza çere malâde din mourt."[/b][/color] [i](The prince has fallen deathly ill.)[/i]

	[b]"Çu çere leurs secrét perâo guardâija."[/b] [i](It is their worst-kept secret.)[/i] [color=silver]He plainly responded.

	Word throughout Yuravia spread quite quickly for any matter. A loquacious bunch, paired with their traditions of nomadism, and what resulted was a state in which a common joke was that it was impossible to keep something a secret for any period longer than 10 days, by which time chiming wives would find themselves chatting about the Tênuar's new affair with Cor as if it were the day's weather.[/color] 

	[color=tan][b]"E?"[/b][/color] [i](And?)[/i] [color=silver]the aide expressed,[/color] [color=tan][b]"Né deturioneuç inkuienteneuç?"[/b][/color] [i](Shouldn't we be concerned?)[/i]

	[color=silver]The chieftain scarcely made his response known. His shoulders rolled in so minor a fashion that to call such a maneuver a "shrug" suggested it could be more than possible accident. Two deep, stone-bleached eyes wearily gazed the young translator aside, scrolling in such fashion apropos a musty library scroll, the likes of which had not been unfurled for decades. [/color]

	[b]"Zaç afačeriux din çu koruna né affligineuç."[/b] [i](The affairs of that crown afflict us not.)[/i]

	[color=tan][b]"E kê açêa homê din zo Mâçon din Razkozïkan?"[/b][/color] [i](And what of that man from House Rhaskozikan?)[/i]

	[b]"Bah! Çeç parubulaux né çeren dar bêtiçe."[/b] [i](Bah! His words are nothing but hot air.)[/i] [color=silver]Leokadra waved, his scoffing huff utterly dismissive of any such sentiments in that militant aristocracy. [/color]

	[color=silver]Lucinêa sighed. The gaunt man had few qualms with serving as the translator of this well-respected grouch, for the ride to Arkronia wasn't one with the fullest beauty of Mycordia in gaze, with which he planned as a pleasant distraction to its fullest extent. Even - perhaps uncharacteristic for a Yuravian - the fact he was to be in attendance of an Arkronian mandate upset him little, for there, Lucinêa knew too well that there, he was to be in the good company of his fellow boredomites. No, his greatest pains came from that of guiding his horses about, as for the eighth time this hour, his prized companionss had developed selective hearing in tandem with a desire to graze upon what few grasses remained along the Kaledian frontiers. 

	Such inklings he hoped would remain as his sole concern.[/color] 

	[b]"Avï!"[/b] [i](Hail!)[/i]

	[color=silver]Leokadra gestured. His finger extended, two long figures in the distance. Lucinêa squinted, peering out with the guidance of the chief. Soon after, he clicked and whistled. By miracle, his black stallions neighed and followed.[/color]

	[b]"Çalut."[/b]
	
	[color=tan][b]"Good day to you."[/b][/color] [color=silver]Lucinêa interpreted. He halted his horses just before the embassy, his bright eyes gesturing their intended use as the envoy's transport.[/color]

	[color=tan][b]"I trust you have been keeping well?"[/b][/color] [color=silver]Lucinêa inquired, his light voice hopeful to ignite at least passive conversation. Darting his head quickly to his right, the translator made quick contact with his elder. The man to his side had a face to put caverns to shame, cracks to make the parched stones of Leed mere chips in comparison. In Ascerian standard, Chief Leokadra, then, was far older than perhaps any living creature had a right to be, yet it was in the face of such adversity that this same elder had the strength to shatter any lesser man.[/color]

	[color=tan][b]"We in the [i]Gardinâ[/i] have received your letter,"[/b][/color] [color=silver]Lucinêa prompted,[/color] [color=tan][b]"and we would be most gracious to accept your proposal of a rekindled friendship. Yet...forgive me. I believe I am...getting ahead of myself."[/b][/color]

	[color=tan][b]"Come along. We have matters to discuss on the long road ahead, correct?"[/b][/color]
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