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Date Posted: 14:44:27 02/07/02 Thu
Author: Laurel
Subject: Why don't you answer that one
In reply to: Barry and Argus 's message, "What's going on?" on 12:27:36 02/07/02 Thu

Laurel lay on the rock until she was nearly dry, though her mass of red hair was still slightly damp in some places. She stretched languidly, enjoying the feel of the hot sun on her skin. Too much longer, though, and she'd be burnt to a yellow crisp, a virtual redheaded elven fritter tottering back to camp, if she could make it that far.

She laughed, dispelling the silly image, and wondered suddenly how to get her clothes without slipping back underwater. Of course, she could walk the distance of the tiny lake and retrieve them herself, but trotting about in her dainties wasn’t exactly an appealing thought. Appealing for some of the others, perhaps, but not for her.

A low, rasping sound from high above made her look up, smiling when she spotted a pair of buzzards winging slowly in the still desert air. Putting two fingers to her mouth, she whistled shrilly, causing the two birds to veer away from their circling and gradually down toward her, until they landed ponderously on the rock.

“Fetch my clothes, dearies,” she said, reaching out to gently stroke their minds with her magic. They responded quickly enough, as quickly as buzzards could, and soon did her bidding, one of them clutching her trousers and the other her shirt.

Once dressed, she kissed their beaks and bid them goodbye, waving to them as she walked back toward camp, skirting the edge of the lake. On the way, she almost tripped when she spotted Ravin and Isobel, far off in the distance at this point. It took only a second or two to discern what they were doing, and she felt a moment’s pang of good-natured jealousy toward Isobel, for getting into the pants of a lovely creature like Ravin.

Laughing to herself, she turned toward camp again, leaving the oblivious lovers behind. When she finally got back, though, they’d actually beaten her there, their hair still wet and their faces all aglow. Laurel was impressed by such a speedy performance, though she wondered if maybe she ought not to be so jealous after all. Maybe Ravin was one of those infamous rogues, those one-minute men she and her friends used to laugh about. But no, Isobel looked plenty satisfied, so apparently Ravin was more than all right after all.

Perhaps she’d be willing to share, she thought, grinning naughtily. Small chance of her attracting Ravin, though. Isobel was absolutely gorgeous, and wore revealing outfits, and had a foreign accent, too. Actually, Laurel had a foreign accent, but she thought Isobel’s was much better. Of course, to her, these people were the ones with accents, while she sounded as she always did, but—oh, never mind.

“Men are such silly creatures, anyway,” she muttered, fixing herself a cup of java. She turned to stare at Argus when the man spoke up, her eyes widening when she saw he was now beardless. Normally, she rather liked men with a little bit of hair on their chins, but the newcomer’s looks had definitely improved once he’d shaved his off.

Before she could respond to his inquiries (or rather, Barry’s translation of them—she suspected the skull of adding his own bent on the man’s words, though), Isobel was suddenly calling for a healer, or rather, a doctor. Laurel narrowed her eyes as she studied Ravin’s blank face, the cold sweat on his brow…

“A vision?” she asked softly. He nodded, but didn’t respond otherwise. “I think he will be fine…for now,” she said, turning to look at Isobel. Although she was curious about what his vision entailed, she would not pester him until he was ready to speak of it to the rest of the group—if ever.

Laurel returned to her scrutiny of Argus, frowning when she thought about how hard it was to understand the man. “Where is this Kelkenney place you claim to be from?” she asked, forgetting to speak slowly so he could understand her. “If it’s truly far away, I don’t suppose we can be of much assistance to you.”

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