"Well," Emmaline purred, shifting her hips to rub her bottom across Amal's thighs, "your talents in those areas are... prodigious?" It was her turn to be a little unsure, though she had spent long enough in an Araybian harem to be pretty fluent, some of the nuances of the language still escaped her. Amal snickkered. "That means a type of fig," he informed her with a chuckle, shifting the blanket around them, edging closer to the warm rocks. "Well your talents are not fig like," she confirmed. "I meant like, really really large," she giggled. "Well that is 'prodigious'," he explained, providing the Aryabic word for her, "and it is something every man loves to hear." She thought that between the two of them they would be well positioned in the Border Princes. Provided they didn't need her to try her awful Brettonian. "I don't know about homes or kingdoms," Emmaline purred, "but I hear it is a place anyone can make a fortune." Her voice dropped into the throaty purr it always took on when thinking about gold, the warmth of their bodies pleasant as the evening chill began to deepen. Emmaline suspected that there were covert eyes being cast their way from the half dozen cook fires, but she didn't pretend to care.