The tents of Minoc billowed on the sides as the soft wind beat consistently against the tarping. Quill in hand, Cecilie sat cross legged on the wooden chair opposite her subject. Dark complexion, Dark eyes, plump lips and a little more than an evening stubble; Agostino was the epitome of ruggedly handsome. He regarded her with a soft smile and a lot of silence. As it happens this was trademark Agostino. At 6’1 he towered over her tiny frame. This thankfully was lessened by the seating situation.

 “Now, Agostino is your name right?”

“Sĩ.”

 “Is there a last name to go with that?”

 “Demonté.”

 “Aside from saving my tushy on maps what is it you -do- exactly?”

 “Whatever it is I wish to?” Playfully he inclined his head in her direction before continuing. “I help take care of my clan, this camp, the one in compassion and others.”

 “Where do you come from?” Gesturing with the tip of the quill to the surrounding tents. “Is Minoc home?”

 “I was not born here Signora. I was brought in at an early age and raised as one of them. I am part of this clan by choice, not by blood. I grew up mostly here and in the Compassion camp in Ilshenar.”

 “If you aren’t related to these people by blood who are you related to?” Tilting her head sharply to the right she leaned closer examining his response as a goose would a stray piece of bread. “How did you get here?”

 “I was born in a place called Italy, Earth. When I was a boy myself and a few others were brought over.”

 “Sì, Signora. I am from a place called Italy.” His smile was wistful but curled down at the end as if regret had found its way within his soul. “Through a portal not so different from the ones you have here.” His words trailed off into silence as he lifted his wrists exposing pale skin encircled by scars. Bindings had clearly left their mark from years of restriction. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. “Many of the children were treated as such. Servants.”

 It was an agreement to leave the subject on the wooden table. Unspoken but unanimous. “You did an impressive feat at the Solstice celebration. Have you always danced with fire?”

“Sĩ. It was a passion of mine learned from others who did so before me.” Genuine and deep he radiated love of the art when he spoke.

 “Are there other times in which you do this fire dancing?”

 “Sĩ. A heart can burn or grow cold. I knew the path of mine.” He inhaled, pausing briefly as the weight of the statement lingered on both of them.

 Becoming one with the flame. One with the fire. One with the spirit. It is usually done in private as a souls devotion. Public displays are only when warranted, like Solstice. There are other celebrations, such as the dedication of the land our new camp will reside on.”

 “Will this be open to all?”

 “Sĩ. Any who wish to come share in this revelry are welcome.”

 Scribbling across the parchment she lifted the tip of the quill, bringing it to the corner of her lip. “There are some basic questions the general population will want to know.”

 Another smile as if encouraging her to continue. “Are you married?”

 “I think the general population has more on their minds than marriage.”

 “Yes, they have hats. Hats are far more important.” Any other man would have pushed the subject further but Agostino, having dealt with her Boura issues, knew better.

 “I am not married.”

 Cecilie nodded once.

 “How old are you?”

 “Twenty-seven.”

 With that she rose from her position. “Do not forget you still have to help protect me on hunts.”

 “I’ll be waiting.”