Follow me down to the valley below, [Rann]

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She needed the money.

That is what she told herself as she pulled him close and planted her mouth against his. She needed the money and he—this man, Rann—was offering it to her. She could have his money if she did this. If she kissed him and let his hands explore her, it would be hers.

Or so the theory went.

She would never admit it—not to herself, and never out loud—but she enjoyed this. There was a warm comfort to this. Life. She felt alive, and she knew was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. The feeling was there—and it made her reach for him again. And again.

Later, when they were done, she lay next to him, idly tracing shapes on his forearm. He was free to leave—usually she would insist they leave as soon as possible—but in that moment, she was oddly content. It was as if there was no rush. He would leave soon, and he would leave money for her. It would damage a proud part of her heart to think about it, so she didn’t. She just blocked it out and nestled in the after glow.

There, she wouldn’t let herself think a single thought beyond the light dusting of hair on his forearm...

[Rann Cahell]

Rann liked having money. And he liked, even more, to spend that money on whores.

This particular whore (it was a such a demeaning word, once you actually met one, and he made sure to never use it around any) was well worth that money--more so than many of the other whores he'd paid for. You see, Rann used money for three things: food, gambling, and sex. Sometimes he didn't bother paying for the first, and the last he didn't necessarily have to pay for, but he did if he wanted good sex.

There was probably a personal issue somewhere in there.

So he was lying there, a hand behind his head, staring upward, hardly thinking at all beyond the, Wow, that was lingering on the surface of his mind.

He sighed. For probably the third time. He didn't want to go. In fact, he wanted to continue with what they had been doing. But that would probably cost more money, which he didn't have a lot of, and he would need food eventually.

She didn't seem to be in a rush to get rid of him, so he wasn't going to rush to leave. He didn't see the need to hurry off onto his life. Hell, he barely even considered it a life. It was just an existence.

He looked at her, wondering if she thought the same thing of her own.

Not that he cared. He was just curious.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She opened her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow. Then she asked him a question.

“What’s your name?”

There was something funny about that. Something hilarious. But she wasn't laughing. If anything, her lips were a fine line, while her eyes were dark and unreadable. She never asked men like him for their names. Not once. But today—tonight—she wanted to. She wanted to know his name.

And she couldn't explain why...

[Rann Cahell]

He raised his eyebrows a bit at her question. "My name's Rann." And such a fitting name it was . . .

"What's yours?" This was one woman whose name he would at least try to remember.

He thought it odd that she was making conversation. Did she usually do this? Most whores whom he paid just shooed him away afterward. Either that or he just, well, left. As soon as he could.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She shifted slightly, closer to his heat.

“Nyarai.”

She did not usually do this. Not once. She couldn’t remember a time where she’d cared for a name, or tried to remember a face. Some men told her their names. They tried to initiate conversation and keep their hollow, one-night relationship, going. But she brushed those names aside.

But she would keep his. She decided she would do that.

[Rann Cahell]

"Nyarai," he repeated, testing it out. Seeing how it sounded when he said it. "Pretty." He didn't really mean it, but men can't really be expected to be entirely honest while lying in bed with a gorgeous woman.

Especially men like Rann.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

She offered him a faint smile. It was thank you enough.

Then she rolled over onto her stomach, her legs kicking in the air behind her. It caused the arch of her back to lengthen and deepen. Her dark skin seemed to shine in the ruddy light of a distant lantern.

“Do you have a woman waiting for you?” she asked. The question was invasive and cold, but her tone was light, conversational. She'd already decided she was okay with letting this man stay a while, so why not run her fingers across his arm and pry out the secrets inside of him? He must have stories, she realized. Maybe his crowded life could give her something to fill up her own void with.

Besides, she doubted she would ever see him again. His accent was different. Not only that, he had this way about him. Her woman's intuition told her he would move on.

So why not talk?

[Rann Cahell]

He wasn't looking at her until she asked him another question. He turned slightly toward her, smiling a little. He couldn't help but look at her back. He resisted the urge to run his hand along it.

He remembered that she'd asked a question. "No, um." He took a breath. "Not for a long time." He wasn't sure why he was telling her anything, really. Maybe he figured he owed her that much. Sure, he'd paid for what she'd done for him, but maybe he felt he owed her more.

Or maybe he just had a thing about being really open after sex.

[Nyarai Khartuul]

So he wasn't married.

She kicked her legs idly, watching him. “Am I speaking too much?” she asked.

She wasn't really concerned with his comfort levels, but she'd already resigned herself to talking to him. If he wanted her to shut up she could do that too. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe not talking was how she could continue to deal with men like him. Men who came with coin and lusty gazes.