One, at least, had seen her fall, and they began to
run, thinking she was wounded or sick.
But they were brought up short by an imposing figure with a sword, and a
half grown wolf which seemed unsure whether to welcome their aid, or
protect its fallen mistress from them. It growled and lunged
uncertainly, looking over at the man, who remained silent. There was a
moment of mutual indecision and fear.
But then the woman in the dark silk dress, lit with patterns of gold and
lilac, stepped forward. Her appearance was strange to him, the
shimmering black hair and olive skin seeming more exotic even than his
first memories of Sylviana. Her eyes were calm and reassuring, but not
naive. She put a hand to her chest, then opened it toward him in what
he clearly recognized as a gesture of truce.
Her stillness, and the way she looked at him without wavering, told
Kalus more than any other sign that she meant them no harm. He lowered
his sword and said simply.
'Do we speak the same language?'
She smiled sadly. 'Yes, I believe we do.' At this the others came
forward.
'Is the girl all right?' asked the man. He started to move
towards her, but Kalus' rugged frame interposed.
'She is exhausted and feverish, and startled by the sight of you.
She is of your kind, I think.
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