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said, almost jokingly.
    “Very well, my lady.  Not bad for one who has not
undergone the year of training,” Manebrow said. 
    Kiria picked up a bow and pulled an arrow out of one
of the quivers.  Pulling the string with all her might she was finally able to
get the string back almost to her breast before finally releasing it with a
strained grunt.  The arrow flew downward much quicker than she had anticipated,
almost sticking in the ground some twenty paces in front of her.
    “Still,” she said, “I do wish I had some skill
with weapons.”
    “Your calling in life is not to bear arms in a
quest to further the gen,” Manebrow answered.  “You have no need of any skill
with such things.”
    Kiria gave him a look that he did not recognize,
almost wistful and yet at the same time weighed down by the burden of things
held close.
    “Take me through the obstacles, Master Trainer,”
she said.
    As they turned to go toward the obstacles that,
collectively, were the scouting trial, a voice called out from the direction of
the council chambers.  Norborib, one of her father’s servants, had come with a
summons for Kiria.  She stopped, a frustrated look on her face.
    “My lady?” Manebrow asked.
    “My father wants me home.”  She looked longingly
at the obstacles in front of them.  “And the scouting part is the part I least
understood.  Oh well, next time perhaps,” she sighed.
    “Or tomorrow, or after the trials and before they
disassemble it all,” Manebrow offered matter-of-factly.
    Kiria shook her head. “Not likely,” she said, a
wistful look in her eyes as she turned to go.
     

     
    Durik was deep in thought as he and Keryak came
ambling around the corner, almost colliding with their master trainer. 
    “Hey, watch it now!”
    The two yearlings stopped short of Manebrow who
had just left the arena, the sudden appearance surprising them all and shaking
Durik out of his thoughts.
    “Sorry!” Keryak yelped as he stumbled back.  Beside
him, Durik stopped and looked about.  From behind Manebrow’s protective stance,
a young female kobold appeared, lithely sidestepping their brawny trainer’s
outstretched arm.  She was dressed in a high-collared red robe, with copper
bracelets and a necklace of charms.
    Durik’s eyes were drawn to hers; they were large
and dark, and moist so that they shone in the dim light of the rush torches. 
It seemed as if she were both sad and hopeful at the same time.  The paradox of
the two emotions playing across her suddenly welcoming face seared the memory
of that first meeting into his heart.  It was all he could do to notice the
others standing there with him, though Keryak’s awkward stammering brought him
back to the moment.
    Suddenly, Durik was very conscious of his
appearance, and of how foolish Keryak’s yelp and his stammering must sound to
this… to her.  Grabbing Keryak by the arm, Durik breathed in and forced himself
to speak.
    “I am Durik,” he said shyly, keenly aware at the
moment of his bronze scales.  But at the name her whole countenance lit up,
bringing down the young warrior’s guard and leaving him exposed and helpless.  He
was struck suddenly, and his mind was instantly on fire with her.  Durik thought
that hers was a face of the divine, a face that would bring a warrior home
through many trials, and a face that he would see in his dreams.
    Keryak was saying something, and Manebrow
responded, then the female spoke and nodded toward Durik.  Durik was certain
that he had heard the name “Kiria” spoken, but he was engulfed as he never had
been before by that moment; a moment he did not yet understand.
    A subtle wind had begun to pulse through the
passageway as those who worked the shafts and vents that regulated their
caverns changed their pattern.  Accepting the Winds of Fate, Kiria spoke
gently, her eye-lids half lowering as she demurely followed Manebrow up the
passageway, “We will meet again.”  It was several moments after she