“Daneera, let him go!” Aloise Hartley pleaded, as the waiter’s iridescent wings fluttered ineffectually, and his face began to turn blue.

Daneera – who had the waiter by his crisp linen cravat, and was holding him about a foot up in the air – did not let go. If anything, her grip on the squirming fae tightened.

“Daneera? Daneera!” Aloise said again, as she placed a hand on the huntress’s shoulder, and made a calming noise. “Daneera, I… I think you’re choking him?”

“Yes,” Daneera said, as she gave the cravat a rough shake. “I know.”

“Daneera,” Aloise said, as she tried to somehow wedge her own fingers between the huntress’s hands and the waiter’s collar, “I wasn’t trying to cause a scene. I just wanted you to check the math for me! I’m not as familiar as you are with the local currency.”

“Oh, I checked the ‘math,’” Daneera said. She gave the rattling waiter another shake, before releasing him with one hand, so that she could wave the little leather folio containing their check in front of his face. “And that’s why I’m so concerned that our friend, here, must have made a mistake, because, according to his ‘math,’ one thornberry fizz costs more than I make in a year of tanning pelts!”

“I had three of those,” Beryl murmured miserably to herself.

“Yes, yes, a mistake!” the waiter gasped, between ragged, wheezing breaths. “Madame is correct! There has been a mistake!”

“Then I’m glad that you’re about to fix it,” Daneera said, and she gave the waiter one last steely-eyed look, before dumping him unceremoniously on the floor.

Every eye in the restaurant was on them as the waiter picked himself up, smoothed-out the tails of his coat, and took the folio from Daneera’s outstretched hand.

“I forgot to include madame’s third cocktail,” the waiter said, nodding perfunctorily at Beryl as he added another zero to the bill with a stroke of his pen, and smirked. “My apologies for the mistake.”

The waiter tried to hand the folio back to Daneera, only to discover that her hand was already full, because she was now brandishing her knife.

“I’ll show you a mistake,” Daneera was saying, when Aloise slipped between her and the waiter, positioning herself bodily between huntress and prey.

“Daneera, it’s no big deal!” Aloise said in her most soothing voice, as she tried to calm her friend down – or at least get her to put down the knife. “We’re your guests – I’m picking up the check!”

That comment seemed to surprise both Daneera and the waiter alike. Meanwhile, Aloise walked calmly over to the nearest table, and started emptying the contents of her enchanted knapsack out onto the lace tablecloth.

“I wasn’t sure how much things might cost on this plane,” Aloise said, as she produced a glittering, golden nugget of pure, crystalized mana from her bag, and set it on the table between the shrimp fork and the snail fork. “And I wasn’t completely sure what sorts of things people might even want around here, depending on local tastes,” she continued, as she extracted a fine, filigreed opal ring, before placing it next to the shimmering nugget. “So I brought plenty of different things to barter with, and I’m sure that one or another of these will be sufficient to pay for tonight’s meal.”

Daneera’s mouth fell slightly open as Aloise casually laid treasure after treasure amidst the sea of dirty plates and rumpled napkins. There was a glass and silver key which crackled with electricity, an ornate pocket watch whose hands ticked silently backwards, and a skyshell cameo locket with an intricate carving of an angel on its lid.

The last item Aloise took from her pack was a beautiful, delicate crown, fashioned from gold and silver strands, and inset with onyx and lapis.

When the waiter caught sight of this last item, his eyes went wide as saucers, and his wings flitted involuntarily. Then he fell upon the delicate crown with the urgency of a starving man upon a roasted boar.

“I believe this will more than settle your bill,” the fae said in a sort of awed whisper, as he raised the crown above his own antennaed head, and began to carefully lower it into place.

But, just before the fae crown alighted upon the trembling waiter’s head, Daneera’s hand flashed out, and she snatched the prize from the waiter’s grasp.

“But this was a double date, remember?” Daneera said to Aloise, and grinned. “So I think it’s only fair that we split the check.”

With a flip of her wrist, the huntress snapped the delicate crown in half. Then she dropped the twisted halves to the floor.

The waiter wailed like a soul in Hellfire. Dropping to his knees, he scrambled to pick up the two pieces of the broken crown.

“Oh, Daneera…” Aloise said, with a chagrined look on her face, and sighed.

Daneera kicked one of the pieces of the crown beneath a nearby table. With a howl of rage, the waiter crawled after it.

“Um… Daneera?” Beryl said, with a concerned look on her face.

“I hope you weren’t expecting a tip!” Daneera called after the scrabbling waiter, before making a rude gesture at him.

“Um, Daneera?” Beryl said again, this time more loudly.

“Yes?” Daneera said, still glowing with pride from her small triumph, as she turned to face the pyromancer.

“Daneera, I think we have a problem…” Beryl said.

Daneera shook her head.

“It’s all sorted,” she said. “And I think the proprietors of Chez Murkwisp will think twice before they try to take advantage of us again.”

“Not that problem,” Beryl said, and shook her head.

Then the ashen-faced pyromancer raised a quivering finger in Daneera’s direction, and pointed at something just behind the huntress’s shoulder.

“That problem,” Beryl said.

Daneera turned around to see the hulking form of a werewolf towering over her.

“Oh,” the huntress said.

Kerik’s gray eyes were narrowed dangerously. His fangs glinted in the romantic candlelight, and a low, rumbling growl escaped from between his bared teeth. His eyes were fixed upon the vulnerable backside of the snooty waiter, who had crawled beneath a nearby table in his effort to retrieve the broken crown.

“Kerik…” Daneera started to say.

Kerik threw his head up and let out a soul-piercing howl, which echoed across the otherwise-silenced restaurant. The sound of the werewolf’s cry sent impeccably-dressed diners diving behind their chairs, and shattered cut crystal goblets all across the room.

“Kerik…” Daneera said again.

But, before the huntress could say anything else, Kerik leapt up on the nearest table, sending scallop forks and snail forks flying in all directions, before bounding off in the direction of the waiter, who, with a terrified scream, scrambled to his feet, and took off flying in the opposite direction.

“We’ve got to help Kerik!” Aloise said, grabbing Daneera by the hand. “Before somebody hurts him!”

Daneera sighed, and shook her head.

“Kerik’s not the one you ought to be worried about,” she said, before she shook loose from Aloise’s hand, and took off sprinting in the direction of her rampaging date.

Beryl moved to stand at Aloise’s side.

“Should we go after them?” she asked, before pointing at Kerik, the waiter, and Daneera, who were cutting a swathe of chaos and destruction across the panicked dining room.

“We’d better,” Aloise said, and she was just about to give chase, when something about the werewolf’s bushy tail caught her eye, and – in spite of herself – she giggled.

A look of confusion flashed across Beryl’s face. “What’s so funny?” the pyromancer said.

Aloise covered her mouth.

“I know I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, “but I just figured out what’s been bothering Kerik all night.” She giggled again, and pointed. “See? His pants are on backwards.”

Beryl looked at where Aloise was pointing, and had to suppress a laugh herself.

“Still, we probably should do something,” Aloise said. “Shouldn’t we?”

Beryl nodded.

So the two of them ran off to join the fray.

Aloise Hartley was having a wonderful time.

Her scallops – which were as fresh as advertised – were delicious. They came still in the halfshell, perfectly-cooked, and practically floating in butter, and, when she put the first one in her mouth, the delicate brininess of the starfish roe had transported her to the sea. She could close her eyes, and picture herself on a white, sandy beach, with the sun warming her skin, and the waves lapping gently at her feet. Every single bite was perfect – like a picture postcard from some distant shore.

The wine, too, was excellent. They were on their third bottle.

And the company was sublime. Daneera was her usual, irascible self, but in a way that Aloise found uniquely endearing. Kerik – as promised – was a gem, so strong, and so handsome, too! He looked like he could have wrestled a direwolf without breaking a sweat, but the way that he doted on Daneera was adorably self-conscious – even if he did seem unusually preoccupied with the fit of his pants, for reasons which Aloise had still yet to discern.

And then, of course, there was Beryl, who was being her usual, wonderful self. Aloise had been making an effort to draw Beryl into the conversation – she knew that Beryl still had a reflex to retreat inside herself when in the company of strangers – and Aloise’s icebreaking machinations had borne some fruit. Daneera and Beryl had spoken about enchantments at some length – Beryl seemed fascinated by the huntress’s descriptions of her auras – and Kerik had even drawn Beryl out on the subject of some of the herbs and flowers she had used in her shop.

Inevitably, Beryl would remember that she was scared of talking, and would trail off, reverting to her usual, quiet self. But, when she did, she would always look up at Aloise, with one of those beautiful, secret looks which Beryl only ever gave to her. Beryl’s eye would be just slightly downcast, her lips just slightly open, her cheeks just the faintest shade of pink. Then she would glance up, her eyelashes fluttering, her eye searching searching for Aloise’s, with this expression on her face which asked for support, and assurance.

And then, when Aloise’s eyes met Beryl’s, and she smiled, Beryl would break into a smile of her own that was so precious, and so genuine, that Aloise would have traded every scrap of gold or silver in the Eternities just to see it one more time.

Seeing Beryl smile like that made Aloise feel all warm and light inside, and knowing that she was the cause of that smile made her feel warmer and lighter still.

Seeing Beryl in her new dress was also doing very nice things for Aloise, too. The deep green fabric really was beautiful, and, more than once over the course of the night, Aloise had found her eyes drawn to Beryl’s pendant, which lay nestled gently atop Beryl’s soft skin, and which flickered orange and white in the candlelight as Beryl’s chest rose and fell with each breath.

That made Aloise feel very warm and light inside, too.

In her imagination, Aloise amended her white, sandy beach to include Beryl lying next to her on the sand, in a dark green bathing suit.

The next scallop tasted even better.

Aloise Hartley grinned, and concluded that the double date was a smashing success.

Which was why she was taken aback a moment later when Daneera sighed, and said, with a pained expression on her face: “I am never letting you talk me into this again.”

Aloise paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“This?” she said, feeling as though she must have misheard Daneera’s comment. “What do you mean, ‘this?’”

“This,” Daneera said, and the huntress waived her hand vaguely at the room around her. “This whole fancy-clothes, fine-dining, snail-forks-and-scallop-forks sort of thing.”

The huntress sighed, and picked at her boar.

“It’s just not for me,” she said.

Aloise set her scallop fork down.

“But aren’t you having a nice time?” she asked, feeling suddenly alarmed. “I mean, you said you were having a nice time.”

“I am,” Daneera said, before hastening to add: “And, don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted to see you – and to meet your girlfriend, too.”

Daneera nodded at Beryl, who blushed, and gave Aloise one of those secret looks.

“But what’s wrong, then?” Aloise said to Daneera. “I mean, I really – really! – want you to have a good time. Really!”

“It’s just, all this, you know?” And, again, Daneera made a gesture which seemed to encompass not just the fancy restaurant, but the whole of civilized society. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the boar’s great—”

“—Mine’s a little overdone,” Kerik said, and he cast an appraising eye down at the massive slab of meat oozing blood onto his plate, before probing at it with his finger.

“We’ll send it back,” Daneera said, her eyes searched the room for their waiter, who seemed to be making himself scarce.

After failing to spot her quarry, she turned back to Aloise again.

“Anyway,” Daneera said, “my boar’s fine, and the wine’s fine, and you and Beryl couldn’t be nicer. It’s just that, well, this isn’t really my idea of a good time, you know? All these fae, in their suits, and their dresses, watching me, looking down their noses at me, judging how I order my meat, where I wipe my hands, the way I chew the bones?”

Daneera pointed to the floor near her feet, where a tiny mountain of boar ribs had accumulated, each one picked absolutely clean.

“This just isn’t my scene,” Daneera said, and sighed. “I feel like I’m in a cage, on display. It makes me… edgy.”

“Me, too,” Kerik said, and he wrapped the huntress in a hug.

Daneera made an appreciative noise, and nestled her head against her date’s shoulder. Kerik brushed his fingers across the huntress’s cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood behind.

Aloise was trying to think of what she could say, of what she should do, when she heard Beryl clear her throat beside her.

“Then let’s leave,” the pyromancer said.

Daneera looked confused.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean, let’s leave,” Beryl said. Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she pushed her chair back from the table. “If you’re not happy here, let’s leave, and go someplace you do like.”

Aloise beamed.

“That’s exactly right,” she said, and kissed Beryl quickly on the cheek, which earned her a very satisfying blush. She pushed her own chair back as well, and motioned for Daneera to do the same.

The huntress still looked slightly flummoxed by the unexpected change of plans.

“But where will we go?” she said.

“Anywhere!” Aloise said. “The night’s still young, and there must be someplace near to here that you like, where you’d feel more comfortable, and we could all have a good time. Right? So, just name the place, and that’s where we’ll go!”

Daneera thought for a second.

“There is an old-growth silverbark grove not too far from here,” she said, thinking aloud. “The trees are very good for climbing – lots of low branches – and, from the top, you can see purple mountains to the east, and every star in the sky.”

“That sounds lovely!” Aloise said, and meant it.

“It is,” Daneera said, and smiled.

In fact, the huntress seemed so revivified by the mere prospect of escaping the restaurant and returning to the forest that she hardly seemed to notice that Kerik was now sniffing at the blood smeared across her cheek, and had developed a strange expression on his face.

“That settles it, then,” Aloise said, and she motioned for the waiter, who appeared as if by magic, holding a small leather folio in his hand.

“We are going to your grove,” she said. “Just as soon as we settle the check.”

As the waiter placed a seventh fork in front of her, Daneera was reminded of just how much she hated polite society.

The huntress picked up the offending fork and examined it – holding it almost at arm’s length, as though afraid it might bite her. It was long, thin, and delicately-curved, with three slender tines of unequal length.

Daneera was no silversmith, but she could recognize the care which had gone into the utensil’s creation – fae craftsmanship at its finest.

It was almost as beautiful as it was useless.

“What is this even for?” she asked the waiter, who was busily arranging yet more forks around the table.

The waiter glanced up briefly, and fluttered his gossamer wings.

“That is a snail fork, madame,” the waiter said. “For eating snails.”

Daneera wrinkled her nose.

“We’re eating snails?” she asked.

The waiter took the fork from her, and set it back down in what Daneera could only assume was its proper place.

“No, madame,” the waiter said. “It is much too late in the season. The snails have flown south.”

Daneera just rubbed her eyes, and decided that she did not understand the fae.

Glancing briefly around the table, she could see that Kerik looked just as confused by the profusion of silverware as she did. Aloise Hartley, meanwhile, was examining each different fork with minute interest, making excited remarks to her date about the differences in design from one utensil to the next, and speculating about the purpose for each.

Aloise’s date, Daneera noticed, had turned the color of a ripe tomato, and looked as though she were growing closer to tears each time the waiter set a new fork next to her plate.

“I think we’ll manage with these,” Daneera said, grabbing the waiter by the wrist before he could deposit any more silverware in front of the shaking pyromancer. “Just bring us some wine, would you?”

The waiter looked at Daneera as though she had just slapped him across the face.

“But, madame,” he said, “you have not ordered yet. How can we ensure the proper pairings?”

“Just start us with something red,” Daneera said, “and we’ll go from there, okay?”

The waiter seemed deeply unhappy with that prospect, but he slipped the remaining fork back into his apron, and he fluttered off in the direction of the kitchen.

From across the table, Daneera saw Beryl mouth the word “thanks,” and she nodded in reply.

Then Daneera swept her multitude of forks into a pile at the edge of the table, and, drawing her knife, she set it down next to her plate.

The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and four glasses. He poured the wine, then looked like he was about to repair Daneera’s place setting, when the huntress tightened her grip around her knife.

“Just leave the bottle,” she said.

The waiter’s hands shook a bit as he complied. Then, nodding primly, he disappeared.

“I feel like a toast is in order,” Aloise said, from across the table. The blonde raised her glass in the air. “What should we drink to?”

“To good friends,” Beryl said, softly, raising her glass as well.

“To good friends, and good company,” Kerik said, and he raised his glass.

“I can drink to that,” Daneera said. “Good friends, and good company. Cheers.” And she clinked glasses to an accompanying chorus of “cheers!” from around the table.

After toasting, Daneera took a long sip. The wine was good, at least.

The aggrieved-looking waiter, meanwhile, had reappeared, and was clearing his throat.

“For dinner tonight,” he said, arms and wings both folded behind his back, “we have the following specials: Turnip and parsley soup, served over ice, with a flight of artisanal croutons, and a dusting of black wyvern, shaved freshly at table. We have a rack of wild brindle boar, served on the bone, with walnut and thornberry dressing, and seasonal root vegetables. Then we have a trio of fresh diver scallops, poached in brown minotaur butter, and served with giant starfish roe.”

Aloise raised an eyebrow.

“Fresh scallops?” she asked. “But the nearest ocean must be miles from here.”

“Yes, madame,” the waiter said, and bowed. “The scallops are flown in daily.” The fae stretched his wings, and Daneera thought she saw a small scowl flit briefly across the waiter’s face. “It is… quite tiring, madame, but chef demands only the freshest ingredients.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Aloise said. “I’ll have the scallops, please!”

“Very good, madame,” the waiter said. He turned to face Beryl. “And for madame?”

The pyromancer was still staring, ashen-faced, at the panoply of forks arrayed before her.

“I think I’ll just have the soup,” she said, quietly. “But… without the shaved wyvern, please?”

The waiter made a judgmental face, but he made an additional note in his order book.

“And for madame?” the fae asked Daneera.

“I’ll have the boar,” the huntress said.

“Very good. One chop, or two?”

“Two.”

“And how would madame like that prepared?”

Daneera didn’t understand the question.

“Cooked,” she said.

The waiter made yet another judgmental face, and Daneera resolved never to leave the forest again.

“And for sir?” the waiter asked Kerik.

“Boar,” Kerik said.

“One chop or two?”

Kerik shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Um… could I get the whole rack, actually?”

The waiter exhaled louder than could possibly have been necessary, and scribbled in his book.

“And how would sir like the ch—,” the fae cleared his throat, shook his head, “—or, rather, how would sir like his rack prepared?”

“Raw?” Kerik tried.

“Rare, sir. Very good, sir,” the waiter said.

“No, no,” Kerik said, shaking his head. “Not rare. Raw.”

The waiter’s pen stopped in mid-scribble.

“Raw, sir?” he said, with the tone of voice of a man who has just heard his deepest beliefs profaned in the most vile way imaginable.

“Well, yes,” Kerik said. “Raw.”

The waiter adjusted his collar.

“I am not sure if chef—”

“—Raw,” Daneera said to the waiter, in a tone of voice which made it clear that the matter was closed.

The waiter sighed, and made a note in his order book.

“I shall speak to chef,” he said, before flying off in a huff.

Daneera glanced at Aloise, and drained her wine.

“This is why I live in the woods,” she said.

Aloise sipped her thornberry fizz, and sighed. It seemed like it was taking them a long time to get seated. They had been waiting at the bar for the better part of half an hour, and at least three other couples had been shown to their tables in the time since they had arrived.

Beryl – who was still so nervous about meeting Aloise’s friends that it was downright adorable – was already on her third fizz, and was beginning to turn a bit pink. Kerik – who was so big! – had declined the bartender’s offer of a drink, and looked a bit fidgety in his clothes.

He kept trying to adjust his pants, Aloise had noted, almost as if they didn’t fit him quite right. She had debated asking him about this, but had decided against it.

Daneera, meanwhile, was growing visibly more irritated by the second. Aloise noted that the huntress’s hand had drifted to the hilt of the long knife she carried in her belt, and her eyes narrowed to hard slits each time the maître d’ – a sharp-faced fae with high cheekbones, long antennae, and a look of seemingly permanent disapproval – walked past.

Judging by the hardening look on Daneera’s face, Aloise was becoming increasingly concerned that, if the maître d’ didn’t seat them shortly, the evening might end in violence before she’d even had the chance to finish her cocktail.

Just then, the fae walked by the bar again, and Daneera stopped him with a raised hand, before fixing him with a look which would have felled a baloth.

“We’re still waiting for our table,” the huntress said.

The maître d’ turned up his nose a bit, and cleared his throat.

“Yes, madame,” he said, not quite meeting Daneera’s gaze. “I know, madame. I assure you, madame, that your party will be seated momentarily.”

“I had a reservation,” Daneera growled.

“I know, madame,” the fae said again, before giving his head a prim shake, which set his antennae bobbing. “But, if madame will recall, madame’s reservation was for sunset, whereas madame’s party did not arrive until shortly after sunset.” The fae cleared his throat. “As such, if madame will remain patient, I assure you that madame and her party shall be seated just as soon as a suitable table becomes available.”

Aloise glanced over the fae’s shoulder into the dining room beyond. She could see a good number of suitable-looking tables sitting empty.

Daneera, meanwhile, looked like she was within an inch of skewering the maître d’.

Aloise cleared her throat, and tried to change the subject.

“So,” she said, brightly, before resting a hand on Daneera’s shoulder. “How did you and Kerik meet?”

Aloise’s question seemed to take Daneera by surprise. The huntress blinked, and, in the moment of confusion which followed, the maître d’ seized his chance to slip past.

“Well,” Daneera said, “I was at a blacksmith’s shop, looking for a ma—”

The huntress coughed, suddenly, and took a quick sip from her drink. She made a slight face, as though the liquor had gone down the wrong way.

“—looking to get my knife sharpened, is what I meant to say,” Daneera said, before clearing her throat, and taking another drink. “And that’s where I met Kerik. He was there getting his axe sharpened.” Daneera nodded in Kerik’s direction.

“Aw,” Aloise said, and smiled. “I think that’s romantic.”

Daneera looked surprised.

“You do?” she said.

“Absolutely!” Aloise said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aloise could see the maître d’ gliding past, menus in hand, as he ushered yet another fae couple to into the dining room.

Daneera – who must have followed Aloise’s gaze – started to turn around to look, when Aloise hurriedly stopped her with another question.

“And what first attracted you to Kerik?” Aloise asked, trying to keep Daneera’s mind on their conversation, and away from murdering the maître d’.

“His ass,” Daneera said, her eyes not quite focused on Aloise as she hunted for her prey.

From his seat at the bar, Kerik coughed. Next to him, Beryl made a small choking noise. She had been mid-sip, and had nearly snorted thornberry fizz out her nose.

“His what?” Aloise said, giggling.

Daneera – who seemed to realize with a start that she had spoken her last thought aloud – went slightly pale.

“His axe,” the huntress said, quickly, before glancing nervously at Kerik, and gulping down the remainder of her drink. “He’s a woodcutter, you know, and he has a very fine… axe.”

Aloise grinned.

“I bet he does,” she said.

“And what about you?” Daneera said – just a little too quickly, and clearly eager to change the topic of conversation. “How did you meet Beryl?”

Aloise’s smile widened, and she felt a warmth start to spread inside her which had nothing to do with the thornberry fizz.

“I met Beryl in a forest,” Aloise said. She glanced across the bar at Beryl, who was staring meekly down at her feet, and blushing. “I was looking for a manalith, and she was on her very first planeswalk, and we just sort of bumped right into each other.”

Kerik screwed up his face.

“‘Planeswalk?’” he said, looking confused. “I thought you said you met in a forest?”

Daneera shook her head, and kissed Kerik lightly on the neck.

“I’ll explain later,” she said. Then, nodding to Aloise, she said: “So, go on – what first attracted you to Beryl, then?”

“Oh, a lot of different things,” Aloise said, and she started listing them on her fingers. “Her smile. Her spirit. Her heart.”

Aloise glanced covertly at Beryl, who was reddening by the second.

“Her ass,” Aloise said.

Atop the bar, Beryl’s thornberry fizz burst into flame.

For a moment, Aloise almost felt guilty. Almost.

But then she saw the flicker of a flame in Beryl’s green eye, and the moment passed.

The pyromancer hurriedly clapped a hand atop her flaming drink, snuffing the fire out.

“But what about you and Daneera?” Beryl said to Aloise. “You still haven’t told us how you two met?”

“Yes,” Kerik said, as he fiddled with his pants. “I’ve been wondering about that, too.”

“Well,” Aloise said, “that’s a bit of a story. You see, I was exploring this overgrown ruin, when—”

—But Aloise’s story was interrupted by the arrival of the maître d’, who had moved to stand behind Daneera, before clearing his throat.

Menus in hand, he bowed to the huntress.

“If madame will follow after me,” he said, “your table is ready.”

Daneera was walking two or three steps behind Kerik as they climbed the steep, spiral staircase that snaked its way around the trunk of the cloudshaker pine from the forest floor below to the tiny restaurant that lay nestled within the tree’s needled canopy. The climb was turning out to be more arduous than Daneera had expected. The secretive restaurant was apparently owned and operated by a tiny conclave of gastronomically-inclined fae, whose winged number accounted for the vast majority of the treetop clientele, and which explained why the staircase that permitted access for non-flying meal-seekers seemed to have been constructed as an afterthought. The incline of the steps was punishingly steep, and there was no handrail. Daneera’s thighs were burning from exertion, and they were still several loops of the staircase away from the top.

But the unexpectedly-difficult ascent had not soured her mood. For one thing, it meant that she was working up an excellent appetite. For another, it meant that she was afforded an excellent view of Kerik’s backside as the two of them climbed the towering staircase.

Daneera was enjoying that vantage point, and she was particularly enjoying the way that Kerik’s muscles moved beneath the fabric of his clothing as he climbed, when the huntress noticed something which made her try and fail to suppress a laugh.

On the step ahead of her, Kerik stopped and turned around.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Daneera looked up at him with a wolfish grin.

“Your pants are on backwards,” she said.

Kerik was dressed in a neatly-ironed gray tunic and matching trousers – the same ensemble which he had purchased during his courtship of Daneera. Daneera herself was wearing her least-scarred set of leathers, along with a fine timberwolf pelt which she had tanned and trimmed herself.

She had chosen that particular pelt to wear because it was the best fur which she had available, and because she had wanted to make at least some effort to look nice for the occasion. It was not until after Daneera had already donned the wolf hide that it had occurred to her – belatedly – that the provenance of her outfit might possibly make Kerik uncomfortable.

If anything, though, the sight of Daneera clad in wolf skin had had precisely the opposite effect on Kerik, such that the two of them were now in acute danger of arriving late for their rendezvous, and the haste with which they had dressed presumably explained how Kerik had somehow managed to put his trousers on backwards.

From his elevated vantage point on the staircase, Kerik craned his neck backwards, trying to get a better look at the state of his sartorial affairs.

“Oh, rats,” he said, as he confirmed his state of disarrangement.

Slipping a finger inside his belt, Kerik gave the leather a tug and glanced down at his undergarments, before sighing in relief, and letting the belt snap back into place.

“At least I got those on straight,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Daneera said, and gave her lover a pat on the rear. “No one will notice.”

“You did,” Kerik said.

“Yes,” Daneera said. “But then I’ve been staring at your backside, and staring at your backside is my prerogative, and no one else’s.”

Kerik grinned at that, before turning and resuming his climb up the staircase.

“I keep forgetting that I’m your trophy,” he said.

“I prefer to think of you as my conquest,” the huntress said. “That makes it sound like you fought back.”

“Which I did,” Kerik said. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I know. I have the claw marks to prove it.”

At that, Kerik paused on the next step, before looking over his shoulder, so that he could see Daneera’s face.

“Well, now that we’re on that topic, there is a reason that I typically try to avoid other people,” he said. “To say nothing of fine-dining restaurants in tightly-enclosed spaces. That, plus I don’t always do well in stressful situations, and, if I’m being honest, this whole ‘double date’ thing has me feeling pretty edgy.” A look of nervousness crept across Kerik’s face. “So… are you sure this is really the best idea?”

Daneera sighed. She was not, in fact, sure that the double date was the best idea. Much like Kerik, Daneera, too, preferred to keep civilization at arm’s length, albeit for slightly different reasons. As far as she was concerned, it was already frightening enough that she had to primp herself up for public display, to comport herself for a whole evening beneath the judgmental eyes of strangers, to pass the time between appetizers and entrees by making polite conversation.

So the prospect of her boyfriend suddenly transforming into a ravenous werewolf over after-dinner drinks didn’t help matters much.

The problem was Aloise Hartley, the huntress reflected. It was Aloise who had first suggested the idea of a double date, and any idea sounded like a good one when Aloise was suggesting it.

So Daneera put a brave face on, and decided to make the best of the situation.

“I’m not worried,” she told Kerik. “Your last transformation was barely a week ago, so I don’t think you’re due for another one anytime soon.” She flashed him a grin. “Besides, if something does happen, we’ll just get you a doggy bag.”

Kerik pretended to groan at the pun, but he returned her smile.

“Okay,” he said. “I trust your instincts.”

“They’ve been good so far,” Daneera said.

“Remind me again who these people are that we’re meeting?” Kerik said.

“Well, there’s Aloise,” Daneera said. “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

“She’s your friend, right? The one from far away?”

“Far away. Yes.”

“So how did you meet her, then?”

Daneera sighed, and shook her head.

“We had a mutual acquaintance,” she said. “But that’s a whole other story.”

“And Aloise’s friend? What’s his name?”

“Her name,” Daneera corrected. “And it’s Beryl.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kerik said, sounding a little bashful. “I forgot, I guess.”

Daneera shrugged. “No matter,” she said.

“Do you know this Beryl, too?” Kerik asked.

“Not really,” Daneera said. “I mean, the way Aloise goes on and on about her, I feel like I know her life story by now. But we’ve never actually met.”

Kerik looked like he was about to ask another question, but he was interrupted by a strange popping sound, which shook the branches of the tree around them, and which was followed quickly by a high-pitched woman’s scream, which seemed to come from someplace high above.

Looking up, Daneera saw a bright white light tear across the evening sky, before disappearing into the canopy above. A moment later, the screaming stopped.

“What was that?” Kerik asked. His hair was practically standing on end, and he looked spooked.

In spite of herself, Daneera grinned.

“I’m pretty sure that was our dates arriving,” she said. She gave Kerik another pat on the rear. “So get that handsome backside of yours moving – we’ve got a reservation for four, and I don’t want to be late.”

Aloise Hartley glanced nervously over her shoulder at the interchronometer, then back at the washroom door, which still had not opened, and then back at the interchronometer again.

Aloise bit her lip. Then, walking across the room, she tapped on the door more than she knocked on it.

"Beryl?" Aloise tried, hesitantly.

From the other side of the door, Aloise could hear something clatter to the floor.

"Don't come in here!" Beryl called back, from inside the washroom.

A second later, something else landed on the floor with a loud crash, and Aloise cringed.

"Beryl, are you okay in there?" Aloise asked, her hand drifting towards the doorknob.

"I'm fine!" Beryl shouted back, sounding anything but. "I'm... I'm just not ready, is all."

Aloise started to turn the knob.

"Don't come in here!" Beryl shouted again.

Aloise sighed, and she glanced over her shoulder again. According to her interchronometer -- a device of her own devising, which could keep perfect time across entirely separate planes -- it was getting perilously near to sunset on Mortava.

Aloise took a deep breath, and she knocked on the door again -- more firmly, this time.

"Beryl, I don't want to rush you," she said. "Really, I don't. Only, well, it's just that we're going to be late, if we don't leave now."

For a second, no sound came from inside the washroom. Then Aloise could hear Beryl's footsteps creeping closer to the door.

"Maybe... maybe you should just go without me?" Beryl said, quietly.

Aloise Hartley laughed.

"If I went by myself, then it would hardly be a double date, now, would it?"

"I suppose not," Beryl said, and something about the way she said it made Aloise smile.

"So, come on, then," Aloise said. "Open up, and let's have a look at you."

After a moment of silence, Aloise felt the knob turn beneath her hand, and the door to the washroom swung open.

"How do I look?" Beryl Trevanei asked.

Aloise had to shake her head as she caught sight of Beryl, and to suppress a smile. The dress that they had collected from the village tailor earlier that day was almost the exact same green as Beryl's eye, and, while Aloise had felt sure that the color would look striking when they had picked it out, now that Beryl was wearing it, the result was beyond wonderful. The deep green fabric swooped gracefully down from Beryl's shoulders and fell to just below her knee, revealing the new pair of sandals that they had collected from the village cobbler just after their visit to the tailor. Beryl's heart-shaped pendant hung around her neck, and she played nervously with the enchanted ring on her finger as Aloise looked her up and down.

"Well?" Beryl tried again, glancing down at her feet.

"You look beautiful," Aloise said, and, leaning forward, she kissed Beryl softly on the lips.

The green-eyed woman closed her eye and sighed, and Aloise's smile widened.

"Keep doing that, and you're going to make me want to get dressed up more often," Beryl said.

"I think I might like that," Aloise said. "Although, for the record, I would also think you looked beautiful if you were wearing a burlap sack."

"I think I might feel less nervous in the burlap sack," Beryl said. Glancing down, she placed a hand protectively over the heart-shaped pendant which lay atop her chest, covering both the necklace and the raised red scar beneath it. "The neckline of this dress is... a little lower than I'm used to. I usually don't show so much scar in public."

With one hand, Aloise brushed a wisp of black hair away from Beryl's face, while, with her other hand, she gently ran a finger along the scar over Beryl's heart.

"Your scars are part of what makes you beautiful," Aloise said, and she kissed Beryl again.

Beryl looked into Aloise's eyes, and she smiled.

"Keep doing that, and you're going to make me not want to leave," Beryl said.

Aloise laughed, and shook her head.

"Well, we can't have that," she said, and, taking Beryl by the hand, she led her out of the washroom, and into the bedroom beyond. "Not after I went to all the effort of getting dressed up, too!"

Aloise herself was wearing a dark blue jumper dress over a cream-colored blouse, along with the pearl necklace which Beryl had made for her, and a pair of tall, kraken-skin boots. Clicking her heels together, she presented herself for inspection, and performed a little twirl.

Beryl blushed.

"You look beautiful, too!" she hastened to add, as her cheeks went bright red. "I meant to tell you that, earlier, but I think that I was too busy thinking it, if that makes any sense?"

Aloise grinned.

"If I rendered you speechless, then I will take that as a compliment," she said.

"You often have that effect on me," Beryl said, her cheeks still burning. "You know?"

From atop the desk behind them, the interchronometer rang.

"You can tell me more about how I take your breath away later," Aloise teased, and she took Beryl's hands in hers. "For now, we've got to fly, if we don't want to be late."

"When you say 'fly,' are you being literal, or figurative?" Beryl asked.

"Both," Aloise said, and she grinned. "The restaurant that Daneera invited us to? It's in the top of a tree."

"Daneera's the one that's your friend, right?" Beryl asked.

Aloise nodded her head.

"I met her on one of my expeditions, not too long after I met you," she said. "But that's a whole different story."

"And what's her friend's name again?"

"Kerik," Aloise said. "I haven't met him, yet, but, from what Daneera told me, he sounds like he's an absolute gem."

"Daneera and Kerik," Beryl repeated quietly to herself. "Daneera and Kerik." She glanced up at Aloise. "You won't let me forget their names, will you?"

"No," Aloise said. "I won't."

"And you'll help me figure out which fork to use, if this place we're going to is the sort of place that has a lot of different forks?" Beryl said, looking nervous. "Because it seems like that's the sort of thing that varies from plane to plane, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

Aloise smiled, and shook her head.

"The sense I got from Daneera is that the place we're going is maybe a little more rustic than all that," she said.

"Okay," Beryl said. "Remember the names, forget about the forks."

"Exactly that," Aloise said. She gave Beryl's hands a squeeze. "Now, are you ready to 'walk?"

Beryl nodded her head, and she closed her eye.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said.

"In that case, take me out on a date?" Aloise said.

Then she closed her eyes, too, and the two women stepped together into the Eternities.

Prompt: an Amphiseum game

Even from back here, he could hear the roar of the crowd. They were insatiable, demanding more blood and sport as they were forced to wait in-between matches. By his blood, he would give it to them.

He was Eirkin Hammerfell, eldest son of the Hammerfell clan, the most feared clan in Oggana. Son of Eirdall Hammerfell, who slew the dragon Jorgan, and grandson to Yana Hammerfell, who conquered Highpass, Eirkin came from a long line of strong blood.

Eirkin breathed deep, thinking of his home. He could feel the pulse of fire in his veins as he remembered rose mountains and valleys his people had claimed from the other clans and from nature itself. His grip tightened around the shaft of his hammer, the call of the crowd beyond making him eager to prove his mettle. Eirkin needed to win against the ultimate beast.

The doors before him opened, and he hefted his clanhammer Jorgkin over his shoulder as he stepped out into the light.

ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ

The roar of the crowd reached even back here, noted Rakka with some satisfaction. They sounded eager. She shared their sentiments.

The Games had been everything she had been hoping. Rakka was insatiable; every moment she spent out of the arena, she imagined being back in it. She had already felled a half-dozen beasts and fiends and proved herself victorious over two fellow combatants. This was where she belonged. This is where she truly lived.

Rakka focused on her weapons. The two short swords, Sol and Mar, were each formed from great beasts she had felled herself. Sol, made from the tooth of a sky swallower, yawned. It was not sated – never sated – but it was slow, not eager for battle as she was. Slung from the opposite hip, Mar, carved from the rib of a great sea serpent, echoed her own bloodlust. Rakka smiled, knowing their personalities all too well.

The doors before her opened, and she had no more time to give to the voices of her weapons. All her thoughts and their thoughts aligned as she walked into the ring.

ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ

The crowd cheered as two figures walked into the Amphiseum arena from opposite sides. Chardis rose from his seat to announce the newest combatants, two very disparate humans each carrying wondrous weapons. "Your champions!" Chardis announced, his voice magically amplified across the whole of the Amphiseum. The cheers only grew more intense, and Chardis relished the moment. "The brave young Eirkin of the Hammerfell clan, who proved himself against four hellions at once, and the vicious Rakka, whose weapons have pulled her through many a match!"

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the crowd had begun chanting.

Chardis glanced back at his sister, and they shared a smirk before he announced, "Begin!"

The two combatants began running towards each other. The arena had been transformed into a rubble-strewn ruin, with half-crumbled brick walls and precarious footing placed abundantly. Rakka weaved in and out of cover, slowing as she neared Eirkin, who just kept charging straight towards her.

Rakka smiled as she neared her opponent. His weapon, she noticed, was an heavy yet intricate composition of metal and dragonbone. A skull, specifically. This Eirkin was hefting a reinforced dragon skull at the end of a rod — crude, but tasteful. The brute was also as muscular as a minotaur. She might let him live, at the end of this match.

Eirkin didn't slow down as his opponent ducked behind one last wall between them, bringing the head of his hammer around to demolish the loose stone as he ran through it. The wall simply crumbled before him, not even dust appearing in its wake. However, his opponent hadn't appeared either, and Eirkin quickly tucked into a roll as he expected an attack from behind.

Rakka watched as the brute ran clean through the wall, rolling and turning around without missing a beat. As he looked wildly around for her, she let Mar drop the concealment around her, though from her perch atop the remaining wall, Eirkin didn't notice her. Rakka gave a short whistle to get his attention, and gave him a smirk and a wink before dropping to the opposite side of the wall as he was.

Eirkin's blood boiled. Funneling his rage through his weapon, he brought Jorgkin down in front of him. The dragon skull that was the hammer's head opened as hit hit the ground, and an explosion of dragonfire obliterated the remnants of the wall he had just barreled through. Eirkin was moving immediately, looking for a better position in this arena.

Rakka breathed a sigh of relief from behind her new cover. Sol saved her from the bulk of her opponent's attack by eating the mana-fueled fire that would have left her a charred husk, but she had to avoid the flying masonry on her own power. Sol was still waking, and she would have to draw this fight out a bit before she could bring its power to bear. Luckily, she knew exactly how to do that.

Eirkin rounded one wall standing just above his head, slamming his back against it as he caught his breath. Jorgkin pulsed with the same inner fire as Eirkin, and it growled at him. He tightened his grip on his hammer. Even his weapon was designed to test his strength, and he forced it to obey. Suddenly a chill ran up Eirkin's back and he rolled away moments before a blade was forced between the bricks that he had been leaning against.

Rakka grunted as she pulled Mar back out of the wall she had just plunged the blade into. Water clung to the blade like a sheath now, one of the special abilities Mar was capable of, sharpening and protecting the blade itself. Rakka backpedaled immediately, and was rewarded when a dragon skull drove itself through the brickwork she herself had just tried attacking through.

Eirkin roared, his voice taking on the quality of a hellkite as he channeled another burst of flame through the head of his weapon. Grabbing one of the jutting horns of the dragon skull, he turned Jorgkin around for the fire to pour right out of its jaws at his slippery opponent.

Rakka quickly dashed to the side as her opponent blasted a gout of flame at her. Calling on Sol, Rakka issued a war cry of her own. Eirkin's flame burst disappeared, but so did Mar's magical sheath. For the moment, the both of them were left with only their weapons and their wits. Rakka rushed in to attack while her opponent was still recovering from Sol's ability.

Eirkin felt a wave of cold wash over him again, silencing Jorgkin. His opponent was on the move, closing the distance as she brought her decorative swords to bear. Eirkin was not unarmed, though, and expertly twirled the handle of his weapon around to parry a flurry of attacks. He quickly hooked one of Jorgkin's horns around her waist and, using his impressive strength, hurled her around to slam into another wall that had been at his back.

Rakka grunted as she slammed hard into the stone wall, the masonry shifting underneath her. Stars swam in her vision, but she could not afford to be dazed. Mar moved on its own, carrying her arm with it as it parried the incoming attack just enough to avoid the brunt of it. Rakka gasped as the hammer head impacted her arm. The lightning burst of pain told her the hit had likely broken her arm, but it instantly focused her mind.

Eirkin had been certain he had a clear attack, but somehow his opponent had brought one her swords up to deflect his attack. He had still hit, and guessed that he had broken her arm in the process, but she was still standing and likely just as deadly. She hooked one of her swords in the head of Jorgkin and spun her body around to stab at Eirkin with the other blade, but he grabbed her swinging arm before she impacted. His large hand wrapped partly around the blade and her hand both, and he could feel his skin break, but he had her under his control now.

Rakka smirked. Mar's serpentine spirit was fighting with the draconic one in her opponent's hammer, and she had brought Sol around to slash at Eirkin. He had grabbed her hand, but in doing so had grabbed the blade as well. Sol was awake now.

The crowd went wild as Eirkin fell limply to the ground. Rakka flaunted, raising one of her short swords up in triumph. The roar in the Amphiseum raised ever higher in response. Slowly, the cheer took on a more malicious quality, as many of the gathered audience members began calling for the bloodier ending to their blood sport. Syl was the one to rise from her seat, this time, and her presence calmed the bloodthirsty crowd. The stands were still abuzz with noise, but had quieted down in reverence.

"Well done to both our champions!" Syl announced. "But the Games demand a fitting end to a fitting brawl!" Pausing for effect, Syl relished the moment as the stands echoed agreement back at her. One particular voice spoke out above the din, however.

"If it pleases the Rulus," came a voice from the ring, "I would make a request." Rakka had spoken from her position over her defeated opponent. Eirkin lay unmoving, seemingly unconscious.

Syl regarded the fighter coolly. Chardis rose and stood by her side. They said nothing, waiting for Rakka to speak.

"I would take this man as a prize," Rakka said. "I would take him as my own champion, to do as I see fit. Or do I need to prove myself against more opponents to be worthy such a concession?"

Syl and Chardis shared a smirk.