Rest yer weary heads...

[thoushaltnotknowme]

Ar-Raqis didn't know how long she had been walking, but her sore feet and constant stumbling told her that she needed to rest. Her surroundings were new and she had no idea where she was. She looked around her frantically, but the darkness was closing in quickly and she found it hard to make out anything in the gloom. A mist began to form, smokey tendrils wrapping themselves around the roots of the trees and chilling her angles and they slithered around her legs. She was very cold, her thin gossamer fabric impractical for such cold weather as was in Morthika. Shuddering and drawing her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she stumbled on, hoping she was going the right way.
Suddenly her foot snagged prodruding root and she fell painfully onto the hard soil. Her elbows had been hurt most by the fall, and they began to bleed as she staggered to her feet again. Dirt clinging to her clothes and body, Ar-Raqis sat down miserably and hoped someone would come by and help her.

[thoushaltnotknowme]

Suddenly a noise made her raise her head from where she had been weeping. Staring down the way she had come, all her senses alert, Ar-Raqis held her breath in aprehension: unsure whether she should be afraid or happy that someone had finally come her way.
Soon it became aparant to her that the sounds were that of a horse's hooves, and soon enough the fog parted to reveal a cloaked figure perched atop a black stallion. The very look of the pair sent shivers down her spine, but she was getting cold and desparately needed somewhere to stay.
As the horseman neared her, he suddenly stopped his steed and looked down at the miserable figure slumped against the tree.
"Well, hello, what have we here? Be you lost?" the hidden man said.
Ar-Raqis--being as innocent and ignorant to the troubles of the world as she was--stood up warily, but shied back from the stranger. He held out his hand to her and beckoned her to come to him.
"Come now, don't be afraid, I won't hurt ye," he assured her, and she stepped towards him until she was standing alongside his steed.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
Ar-Raqis just nodded dumbly, still very timid and all the more glad her face was hidden behind her veil.
"I know where we are, and I can take you to meet some friends of mine. There's an Inn down a ways here that ye can rest yer head at, maid. Come, I'll show ye."
By now the mysterious belly dancer had regained her ability to talk and she took his hand and allowed him to help her up into the saddle.
"I'm Ar-Raqis. What is this Inn?" she asked as he sat her down in front of him and looped his arms around her holding the reins. He clicked his tongue and the horse began to walk again at a steady lope. Ar-Raqis didn't particularly like the way he held her so close to him, as sometimes his hand would stray away from the reins and touch her. She tried to ignore it as he placed his hand on her leg.
"The Dancing Devil Inn; there's no place better," he said, and the innocent belly dancer didn't detect the hint of sly and cunning in his voice. Soon the mist had enveloped them in its chilly hand once again as they neared the small village of Forthaela and the Dancing Devil Inn: an Inn where its name said everything.