"If you want to take it from him, be my guest!" the shorter one said flatly. "I'll make sure what's left of you is buried. If you want to die, go ahead, but I'm not going to keep you company!"

And with that, the shorter one turned and fled out into the storm. The nervous mercenary took only one more look at him, then turned and followed the shorter man.

The tall mage stood there for a long moment, his face an agony of indecision, as his desire for the book struggled against the healthy warning he was given. Tarrin gave him an utterly emotionless look, his eyes flashing green briefly as he raised a paw and showed the man his very long, very sharp claws.

That was all it took. The man turned and fled back into the howling gale.

"Well done," Sarraya chuckled from the table. "I say, Tarrin, you actually managed to end a confrontation without tearing apart the other guy. I don't see a single body part anywhere on the floor. I'm very impressed."

"Save it," Tarrin said shortly, picking up his cloak and throwing it over his shoulders in silence, with only the howling of the wind bringing sound into the room. Every eye was on him, and those not sitting down were standing in place. They were all worried, uncertain, and a few of them were a bit speculative. He slid the cloak into place, then picked up the visor from the table and settled it over his eyes. "We'd best go before they find their nerve."

"I doubt that. I think the short one left a puddle where he was standing," Sarraya laughed, flitting up into the air.

Tarrin settled himself, readying to venture out into that stiff wind, with its blowing, stinging sand. But a sudden presence at his side made him look down. It was the pretty little barmaid, looking up at him with just a little bit of fear. She was holding up a scarf of red wool, with tassels at each end, offering it up to him.

"What is this?" he asked her defensively, his expression wary as his fear of strangers rose up in him with shocking speed. For an irrational moment, he felt the impulse to either strike her down or get away from her, but he remembered that she had been kind to him. She had talked to him when nobody else would, had smiled at him with sincerity in her eyes. No, he would not hurt this human. She was not threatening him then, and she was not threatening him now. She was afraid of him, but that was only natural, given what he was. That she would approach him despite her fear said much for her character.

"It'll keep the sand out of your nose and mouth," she replied with a gentle smile. There was absolutely no fear in her eyes now, as if she looked into his face and saw that he would do her no harm.

He looked down at her for a very long moment, his feral fear of her battling against a human feeling, a feeling of-gratitude? Compassion? Something about her struck at the human in him in a positive manner, making him not feel threatened by her.

She was giving him the scarf out of kindness. She expected nothing in return, not like the weaseling cons that had shown him a veil of kindness, only to hide the ugly truth of what they wanted from him beneath. She had nothing to gain from giving him the scarf. Her act was one of genuine compassion for him, a kindness to him. A sincere kindness.

It had been so long since someone had shown him such sincere kindness.

His rigid posture eased immediately. He reached down and took the scarf, her tiny hand absolutely swallowed up by his massive paw as he took it from her, and in that fleeting exchanged he felt her skin against his pad. It was warm, but it was calloused from her hard work. "I-thank you," he said brusquely, not entirely sure how to respond to her. As if he had forgotten what to do when faced with an act of kindness. The only thing he could think to do was reciprocate. "Here, take this. I don't need it anymore," he said, handing her the pouch of gold nuggets.

"What is this?"

"A fair price," he told her, looking down into hazel eyes that showed no fear. "It is a fair price."

Tarrin wrapped the scarf around his neck, placing it over his mouth and nose, just under the visor. Sarraya flitted up against his face, then climbed into the hood and found a sheltered spot within the deep cowl, partially under the scarf. He gathered the edges of the cloak up in one paw and pulled the hood down over the visor with the other as he boldly stepped out into the storm, feeling the howling wind yank and tug at the cloak, at the hood, feel the stinging sand strike the visor as the dim light, almost like a cloudy night, forced his eyes to adjust to see. He disappeared into the storm, barely hearing the doors and shutters close in the nameless inn behind him, both worried that someone would be lurking in the storm, and confused by the young girl in the inn. Confused by her kindness, confused by his own reaction to that kindness. No human had shown him such sincere compassion in so long, a compassion given with no ulterior motives, not since an old woman on a porch had shared a meal with him, giving him the kindness of her ear and the gentle wisdom of her age. He couldn't remember her name, but she had been much the same as the young girl in the inn, a gentle presence that had soothed him in strange ways.

It was something to think about once he was safe. Right now, there were men out in this storm that wanted the book, and he had to get away from them. Turning his face into the wind, lowering his head to keep the hood from flying off his head, he marched into the howling wind, the blinding sand, seeking to lose himself and his pursuers in the surreal environment of a raging sandstorm.

The sand, driven by the wind, struck at the mud bricks of the city, slowly yet surely eroding them away, reducing them to dust and sand. It was a slow yet efficient process, as the sand methodically wore away the baked bricks from which the buildings of the city were made in a cycle of sandstorm after sandstorm. It was a process usually indetectable to the observing eye, a process of months and years rather than days or rides. Yet it was a process that was undeniable.

The driven sand of kindness had struck the stone wall erected around Tarrin's heart, and it too had started its slow yet irresistable work.

To: Title EoF

Chapter 3

I was like moving through an alternate reality.

For the entire night, Tarrin and Sarraya slowly made their way through the howling sandstorm, the Faerie cowering within the safety of his hood as Tarrin stood against the fierce winds and blowing sand. The sand removed any ability to see much past his own nose, which caused him to rely on Sarraya's Druidic ability to detect north after they left the nameless city. That in itself had not been very easy, for the river stood in their way. There were no bridges, nor would any boat go out in the sandstorm to ferry them across. Tarrin had to rely on Sarraya to get across, as the Faerie used her magic to harden the water of the river in a narrow path, letting Tarrin walk across the water to get to the other side.

Wet feet dried quickly in the howling wind, which intensified after they got outside the protection of the city's thick stone walls, after they abandoned any cover that would slow the gale down. It was so strong that it nearly carried him off his feet several times, made him cower in his cloak and literally walk blindly as Sarraya called into his ear if he wandered off course. He could not see, he could not smell through the scarf. The wind howled, which was the only thing he could hear outside of Sarraya's shouting voice, which was itself barely comprehensible over the raging sound of the storm. The cloak protected him from the driving, stinging sand, but he felt the sting of it against his feet as he walked, sure that the fur on his feet had been scoured off by the grinding action of the blowing sand.