Emmaline smiled a little self consciously. The need had been to find clothing before they attracted too much attention, in the Empire with Witch Hunters and Sigmar bothering priests that could have been a problem, but the stout workman’s clothes did feel a bit like wearing a sack. Well in the morning she could take the time to look up a dress maker or a seamstress, or perhaps a pawn broker who already had such clothing from the wardrobe of some down on her luck burgess.
 
“I certainly can’t say life has been boring since I met you,” she agreed, running her fingers through his dark hair.  It seemed easier to imagine it all as an adventure in retrospect, now that the immediate threat of being sold back into slavery by murderous elves, or burned alive by skaven fire throwers seemed to have abated. Something tickled her from the half remembered time they had spent in the tomb city, like words that somehow evoked a long ago reading of a forgotten tome. Whatever else happened she didn’t think they were likely to live out their days in idle luxury. A grin stole across Emmaline’s face, breaking her sudden pensiveness like a sunrise burning away an albion fog. That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to try!
 
Leaning down over amal so that her bosom strained against the coarse over shit she kissed him on the lips.  Amal arched an eyebrow though he didn’t seem willing to break the spell by speaking.

“I was just thinking that I have been poor many times and rich only once, so I plan to make the most of it!”
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