[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220419/d955e440c95ac6f731dc5e649ad359eb.png[/img][/center][hr]Lilann had not expected to stay dry, or alive even, if she let herself be as cynical as she ought to have been. However, by the time Esvelee pulled them off the road they were both, and she was not about to complain. Telling stories with her nerves on the fray had been an exercise for her composure, and she was mildly proud for keeping herself together. Entertaining people with a black eye or a bruised lip was one thing, but no mask could hide a quavering voice or a scattered mind. Thankfully she’d avoided both. 

[color=skyblue][i]Look at you, acting like a professional.[/i][/color]

As far as audiences went, her companions fell on the acceptable side of ‘[i]didn’t try to kill me,[/i]’ so she couldn’t complain. Kyreth especially had been quite receptive, and while she’d delighted in his fascination, it also gnawed at her to view him as a listener. So often she held a silent disdain for the crowds she tended, nearly to equal the subjects of her stories. And as she walked, lyre strumming, spinning her tales, she’d met his eyes and seen the wonder in them, and for a single, involuntary moment she [i]hated[/i] him. 

In the next moment she felt incredibly guilty. Didn’t trip her up though—professionalism and all that—but she was more careful. The feeling had settled by the time they’d come to a stop, which lasted all of a few minutes before Kyreth offered her some of his rations. 

Gods, if she ate it now she might be sick. She didn’t deserve this, but then, it seemed that wasn’t really her call. 

“[color=skyblue]Kyreth—[/color]” she said, as he turned back for the cart. She doffed her mask, offered him a smile that probably didn’t seem as grateful as she meant it to. “[color=skyblue]Thank you.[/color]”

Alone, she tested her stomach on the hardtack. When it stayed down, she let herself nibble on the rest, but despite having eaten nothing all day, hunger had fallen to the back of her mind. What came to the front, regrettably, was Ceolfric. Kyreth had Cerric busy, and with any luck, Esvelee would be distracted as well. It was as good a time as any.

She slung her mask to her belt. As much as she would have preferred an extra layer between her and the hedgeman, she gained nothing hiding from him on this matter. So, bucking up, she made her way over to him. 

“[color=skyblue]Hey, [i]sst![/i][/color]” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “[color=skyblue]We need to talk about your message. Your [i]friend[/i] and I are recently acquainted.[/color]”

Looking around, there wasn’t exactly a [i]great[/i] place to talk inconspicuously. Yes, it was darkening, and the others were busy, but they were in a clearing and if the two of them just wondered off to the shadowed fringes, they might draw Esvelee’s attention. Or worse, Cerric’s. She had half a mind to ask him to use his magic, see if they could simply think at each other, but perhaps it was unwise to waste the aether. As much as she disliked the man, he was doubtlessly the best fighter among them—perhaps discounting their chaperone—and if things turned poorly in the night, they’d all be better off with him at full capacity.