THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 21

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 21

02- ABBOT TUHO

After the scholar Fradel had left the room, Yenis hung her head, pouting for a long while, as seething anger stirred within her.  Eventually putting her disappointment and rage forcefully aside, she reclined and attempted in earnest to get some sleep.  Still, her melancholy and irritation drove away any sleep and she stayed fully awake most of that night, wrapped in a despondent, fitful mood, suffering from emotions and thoughts that obstinately refused to go away.

In the next room, Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) had spread out his overcoat next to a dry wall, rolled his outer garments up into a neat bundle and placed them under his head as he lay down to sleep.  Hearing a stirring behind him, he instantly turned and sat bolt upright.

Luminous, swirling vapors circled the center of the room, finally settling to reveal the apparitions of three handsomely clad monks kneeling to face him in supplication, flanked by two novices carrying lamps which glowed with a cold fire. 

Rising to his feet, Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) was about to accost them when the center monk bowed low on courtesy and, in a resounding voice, gave solemn greetings to him invoking the name Prince Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir. He then added:

"Abbot Tuho respectfully requests an audience with Your Highness.  Please follow us."

Not waiting for Nevetsecnuac's reply, they rose to their feet in unison and, bowing, floated out of the room.

"Please wait up, sirs."  Nevetsecnuac grabbed the bundle of garments and rushed outside after them trying, as he moved, to clothe himself decently.  Everything outside was bathed in unnatural, cool daylight, its beauty almost taking Nevetsecnuac ‘breath away.  All had been transformed into the exact semblance of its former glory.  In the splendor of the days before the monk's demise Nevetsecnuac noted the red columns, inlaid with jewels lining the halls.  Cut diamond chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, their brilliance mirrored in the smooth marble of the floors.  Brilliantly colored murals surrounded every door and, flanking the portals, tall, lifelike statues stood sentry over the rare fragrances wafting in from the courtyard outside.

Nevetsecnuac passed through polished white terraces, over petal strewn paths checkered by the cold sun's golden rays, and around crystalline ponds housing darting goldfish.  Rare birds sang joyously from branches adorned with spring flowers, their melody in perfect consonance with the monk's lugubrious harmonies and the rhythmic pealing of bells.  All was so indescribably beautiful, so entrancingly transient and serene that Nevetsecnuac felt as if he was in a heavenly palace among the immortals.

Returning inside, he trod on plush carpeting, so soft he felt he was walking on clouds and noted with interest the identities of the idols that inhabited the great hall.  His wish to stop and pay his proper respects to these gods, however, was overridden by the monks' unwillingness to wait.  After a slight bow from the waist, he picked up his steps and rushed after the monks, who had very nearly vanished from view.  Seeing them disappear behind a large set of doors, he followed their lead and entered the Great Hall, where some seven or eight hundred monks, draped in magnificent capes, had already assembled. 

Separated into two neat groups arrayed around the center like a palm leaf, they were kneeling, hands clasped, in absolute obeisance (homage, respect) to the surprisingly young-looking Abbot, who was sitting in his golden cloud-patterned high-backed chair, positioned at left, center of the dais (platform). Abbot was the only one that did not have his eyes closed in deep trance.  Behind him at slightly lower podium, in intricately carved chairs set, the key (prominent)administrative priests, other high-ranking staff and scribes. etc. 

Instructed to wait at the door by the portal's guards, Nevetsecnuac watched his three guides take their respective places, close their eyes and strike the same pose as the rest. 

The two novices brought their lighted staffs to Nevetsecnuac's side and quietly led him up to the Abbot's dais.  His eminence’s eyes were at first lowered (half-closed) in contemplative pose, as if in prayer, his manner, serene yet imposing and dignified.

Nevetsecnuac waited until the golden-haired, most august-looking Abbot Tuho finally looked up and smiled at Nevetsecnuac.  

At once, Nevetsecnuac bowed his head reverently to the Abbot, who solemnly reciprocated (returned) the bow, then placed his palms together before his chest then raised it to his forehead in the traditional greeting.

Coming forward next, the Abbot took Nevetsecnuac's hands and, smiling warmly, said,

"It’s very kind of Your Highness to honor us with your presence.  May we now request that Your Highness permit us to show proper and due respect as well as our boundless gratitude."

He ushered Nevetsecnuac into a seat of honor, a magnificent high-backed chair intriguingly carved with a dragon motif, bearing the Seal of the reign of Nevetsecnuac's grandfather, on a singly higher podium to the right.

"This is where His Majesty, Zuronghan Therran Valamir, always sat to receive our oaths of fealty.  This honor is now conferred on to you, Your Highness."

03- NEVETSECNUAC BEING HONORED

 After Nevetsecnuac, with all due modesty, took up his seat, Abbot Tuho, the elder monks, the Prior, the Abbot's assistant, the Deacon, the two senior scribes and all others arrayed themselves by rank in single file to the accompaniment of bells, drums and gongs.

 When all was still once more, the long procession of monks came forward in measured steps and, one by one, knelt and touched their foreheads reverently to the floor before Nevetsecnuac.  Each one proclaimed their fealty and gratitude to him.  Their resounding, rippling words permeated the air of the Great Hall with an aura of auspicious light.

Just then a scented breeze wafted through the Hall and the ceiling of the Great Hall parted with reverberating thunder.  All eyes(heads) turned upwards; Nevetsecnuac, the Abbot and all the monks without exception, immediately and with reverence (of this miracle), had dropped to their knees, mutely expressing deep gratitude to all the Gods, Immortals and Royal lineage, for this special (favor) blessing.

 Nevetsecnuac with misted eyes observed high above him, hosted by various Gods riding the backs of Dragons, his majestic grandfather, his father, and the other members of the Royal family, all, peering down at him from the luminous clouds and approvingly smiling at him. 

Subsequently, after all the revered beings had departed and the ceiling once more sealed (closed up), Abbot Tuho wreathed in smiles coming forth, invited Nevetsecnuac to a feast in the huge dining hall of the Abbey, to commemorate this auspicious occasion.  They took up their respective seats and happily partook (consumed, shared) the delightful array of exotic fruits from distant lands and sundry, intercontinental vegetarian dishes; meanwhile, from silver goblets all drunk heartily the refreshing liquids to quench their rising thirsts, while they listened to the soothing melodies of the harp.

During dinner Nevetsecnuac, seizing an opportunity, politely asked Abbot Tuho for his guidance.

"All is to be done according to Heaven's will."  The Abbot paused and then, in a quiet, serious voice, added, "Your Highness, you must remember that perceived reality is an illusion, and things are rarely what they seem.  Lay your trust in the unlikely one and pluck out the root of evil implanted in the abandoned son."

"Help…Help!  Save me!"  A sudden, desperate cry shook Nevetsecnuac into wakefulness.

He found himself, fully dressed, seated on a wooden crate in the middle of the large, dilapidated hall.  Only the moonlight, streaming through the broken windows and the gaps in the walls illuminated his way.  It was most fortunate that he had marked the area well during the day's surveying, for now he had to blindly rush back to Yenis' room.  She was obviously in mortal danger.

When he reached the outside of her door he hesitated to enter for a moment or two and knocked instead.  "Are you all, right?" he inquired, afraid she may not be decent; afraid she may only be having a nightmare.

"Ay!  Get away from me!  Help me, Master Fradel!  Save me!"

Her shout quickly made up his mind for him.  Forsaking propriety, Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) burst inside; to apprehend the culprit but he found no such person there.

 She was sitting, all alone, on the edge of the bedding, trembling in fright.  Soaked in perspiration, her diaphanous inner garment clung tightly to her body, attenuating the outlines of her exposed bosom as it swelled and heaved with her gasps.

Embarrassed, Fradel lowered his eyes to the ground at once, muttering apologies for the intrusion, and started to take his leave.

"Please don't go.  I'm so frightened." the girl pleaded in a quivering, provocative voice.

"Don't be." Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) assured her, his eyes still pinned to the ground.

"It's your taut nerves that are playing tricks on you.  It was only a bad dream.  I'll light this torch and leave it here for you, if you like."

"But I really did see someone sinister lurking about.  It was not a dream, I swear it!" in a tragic tone she protested.

 "I was not asleep yet.  Truly there was someone in my room.  I did not get to see his face, but he stood over there, as surely as I am here…A monstrously big man with grizzled red hair and blazing beard."

"That's impossible." Fradel shook his head.  "This room has no windows and no other openings besides the door I just came in.  I made sure of that earlier.  How could he appear out of thin air?"  He was beginning to lose patience with her.

"You're mocking me.", she said indignantly, pouting, puckering her lips. "Has it occurred to you that there might be a secret passage here that you might have overlooked?"

"No, that was ruled out when I thoroughly searched this room earlier."  Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) was unrelenting, but softened his tone to urge her, without turning around, "Please do not be afraid and try to get some rest."

04- YENIS LUKO

"Oh, please, I implore you, don’t go." She whimpered (moaned) seductively, then rushed over to tug at his sleeve.

 "I don't care if you believe me or not, just don't leave me alone.  I'm sorry if I spoke harshly just then."  Stomping her foot, she rebuked him gently, "You just don't care what happens to me; you obviously don’t! But how can you be so heartless to leave me here all alone without any protection?"

 Weeping, she ran back and threw herself on the bedding.  "I'm afraid.  What if he comes back?" she looked up to ask, despairingly.

Recalling the other set of footprints in the tunnel, the large ones paralleling those of Yenis, which she’d claimed to have had no knowledge of, and remembering the Abbot's parting injunction that ‘things are not what they seemed’, Fradel stopped.  The girl was frightened in earnest.  Perhaps there was something in what she claimed, for that odd sensation of being watched by unseen eyes gnawed at him again.

 "Well, all right." he acquiesced with his back still towards her.  "You may rest easy; I’ll stand guard outside the door."  He closed the door after him then sat down with his back against it.

Is this scholar made of flesh and bone? Nevertheless, comforted by his presence outside, shrugging her shoulders, Yenis closed her eyes to sleep.

 Oh well, there will be plenty of other opportunities.  Resigned to this night’s temporary setback, she yawned a few more times then, rolling over, soon drifted into blissful sleep for the remainder of the night.

 

(END OF SECTION 21)

                                                                                          ~ 

THE RESCUE - SECTION 5

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RESCUE - SECTION 5 

Before dawn, leaving the morning’s mundane chores for Svein to complete, Stark made ready with the prescribed protocol and the requisite implements for the purification ceremony. As it was a pressing matter, the age-old ritual could be done without the other participants. All he needed were some personal items of theirs, such as lock of hair, or a piece of clothing. In solitude he would move expeditiously and potently perform, the necessary prayers, incantations and offerings to cleanse the entire premise anew, as well capping the area under protected dome, from any portended, harmful apparitions.

                                                                                ~

Shortly after daybreak (sunrise), when the golden rays basked the room with their warm glow, she awoke with her head somewhat clouded, a derivative-effect of the ingested drug of the night before. At the start with her eyes only ajar, she had incomprehensibly scanned, perused the room, then recollecting the terrible fright of the previous night, she’d set up with a start.  As she rubbed her eyes and then her temples, gradually other facts came to mind. Too fantastic to believe, inwardly she questioned their validity, painstakingly going over in her mind all the pertinent details.

Had she articulated her fright in her native tongue and had Stark, truly, responded to her in kind?  Could she have dreamt or imagined it all- perhaps it was a feat born out of intense desire? 

After a period of soul-searching, the unlikeness of it all had in the end erased any such notions or hope from her heart, replacing it instead with sadness and deep dismay.

Then she noted the absence of her original garments; as she sought the explanation for their whereabouts, her attention just then was drawn to the gentle knock at the door.

Upon her verbal consent, Stark dressed in an embroidered formal silk robe and bearing a gift of change of suitable apparel for her, entered the room and greeted her politely. Going over, he gently placed them on the chest then turned to squarely face her.

 Extraordinary circumstances beget extraordinary measures; therefore, Stark deeming the time to be appropriate, with a courteous bow of the head, he now properly in her own language addressed her. “Please accept this attire in place of your old ones. When ready, you may join me in the next room.”

Not waiting for a response, he then promptly left the premise.

Hearing him speak such, boundless joy had all at once filled her heart.

 “So, it was true after all; she hadn’t imagined it.” She could not help smiling; a big wide smile adorned her face for long at last she’d be at liberty to, without hindrance articulate!  No more of past stiflingly restrictive, oftentimes annoying muted attempts at communication- as time and again she’d faced with the mind boggling, incomprehensible, different dialects of foreign languages since her departure from home- whether it be the exchanged, somewhat secretive dialects between merchants, the coarse, at times vulgar verbal intercourse of (sailors) shipmates on board the seafaring vessel, or the odd interchange between the fisherman that had rescued her, his family and friends.

But she mustn’t let her hopes get too high! She quickly checked her exuberance, for what if he only knew a few words, enough to get by?   There was one sure way to find out; and so, she expeditiously washed her face, hands then donned the attire and footwear that Stark had generously provided (left behind). Incredibly, they were both a perfect fit. When she caught sight of her rather unbecoming (indecorous) flushed face in the mounted metal disc that served as a mirror however, she forced the necessary restraint on her emotions again and sat quietly by the bedside till her breath was regulated and her pulse steadied. Then aptly composed, raising to her feet she quietly exited the room.

She found Stark seated by the fire and in a deep contemplative state smoking his pipe. Svein was noticeably absent, (perhaps) by design.

Before she could address him however, Stark, aware of her presence, calmly rose from his seat and put aside his pipe; facing her squarely then, with a slight bow of the head, he promptly, formally in her language, introduced himself as Stark Therran and politely asked after her true name.  He spoke with an eloquent tone, in a manner most gentle and refined, but she could only discern part of what was being said as he was tad out of practice and she was too emotionally struck, rather choked up, for an apt response, same time felt ecstatic as boundless joy had again surreptitiously (flooded) filled her heart- hearing him speak with her native tongue!

Despite Stark’s outward tactful patience, he was (somewhat) miffed and same time his curiosity mounted, seeing the girl’s slight hesitation after her initial joy, her ensued reticence in disclosing her surname.

She, eventually realizing that there was no polite way out of it, other than shamefully lying to this fine gentlemen that had been infinitely so kind to her- now courteously bowed and after her (relayed) sincere apologies for the improper silence, pronounced in clear intonation her given name, Teuquob then formal family name, Yuenen- one she’d been known for most of her life; hence, in righteous indignation forsook her true lineage, her flesh and blood father who had abominably rejected her.  Intriguingly enough, Stark’s suppressed reaction, the slight blinking of an eye, revealed to her that he possessed the knowledge of, or at least drawn certain apt connection to this professed surname; nevertheless, Stark neither dwelt on it nor made any further inquiries to ascertain what he must have known.  Instead, he politely indicated her to a seat with the understanding that they’ll resume with the rest of their exchange (thereon), in a more relaxed, informal setting. She was also invited to partake some of the steeped tea, cupful of which had thoughtfully already been placed on a small end-table by the seat.

Though she was bursting with innumerable questions and needed to know, “what probable connection?” his reserved taciturn manner and obvious reticence, forced restraint on her, and as well, discouraged her from her objective. Instead, she bid her time, enjoying the exquisite brew.

As it were, all she knew of her foster father’s lineage, a summary, was that he was the third son, who had inherited his title after the eldest (Haixi Yuenen) for some furtive reason forwent it. The latter for a time had been lost at sea and even after his remarkable, almost miraculous safe return, still opted to, living the reminder of his life in self-imposed exile. Meanwhile the second in line had lost his life in an ambush during one of the worst historically disastrous campaigns against an ancient race, that since then had been wiped out from the face of the Earth, thanks to Hendenko.

After his inheriting of the coveted title, her foster father’s position was further secured when he aligned himself through a propitious marriage, with the royal family.

 “Surely this tactful and cultured a gentleman before her had at some point in time visited Kontu and arbitrarily perhaps, came to know of her father or at least, of the family.”  She still could not help but formulate in silence; her feelings now doused with greater admiration of Stark.

At any rate, bound by gratitude she broke the uneasy silence between them by readily volunteering the subsequent, less intrusive information: How, once, seemingly long time prior, she’d been a passenger on a merchant ship that had encountered unexpected severe weather, veered off-course and consequently been lost at sea. The tragic episodes relived once more, despite her initial intent, she'd then uncharacteristically rattled on. When she became aware of this default, she tried to remedy it with succinct summation.

 “A presumed sole survivor, I ended up cast near the shores of this land…. Rescued from certain death by a kindly old fisherman and his wife, I remained with them for a time, as I’d felt obligated to repay their kindness.”  At this point her voice faltered, as she was lost as to how best to continue. 

She had purposefully omitted the facts concerning the odd circumstance under which she had left Kaimu and his wife Ensa; for in truth, she was not entirely clear of the reasons herself, for the premature secretive flight. Furthermore, there was the obvious lapse in her memory, when she’d suddenly found herself without a mount, dressed in a different, though pleasanter attire, cast amid a clearly higher altitude forest, without any recollection as to how she’d got there.

“We will at later time perhaps indulge in a more extensive conversation- after you’ve sorted out the complex details within your mind- and received answers to obviously many enigmatic questions.” Stark, noting her dilemma, had politely, with apt sensitivity, at this point interjected.  For in this case, he could afford to be patient; any interested party from the fishing habitat, if there were any, would have quickly abandoned any hope of pursuit, on the premise that she would be perished long before she’d reached the foothills, let alone the mountain.

Lightened at heart, she nodded in grateful concurrence her ready assent.

“We shall in due course however, as your initial aim had been thwarted, explore all plausible options where which to again afford you a passage at sea for the purposes of restoring you back to your family in the Country of your origin.” Stark in a thoughtful air re-lighting his pipe, deliberately mumbled. Through subtle design, he aimed hence, to resolving the other more prevalent concern: in determining whether she was a willing participant or not- in other words, had she left her home voluntarily or barring unforeseen circumstances, was she forced to flee; or altogether different, had she been a resultant victim of an economic, political or conspiratorial abduction that was botched, because of the unexpected disaster at sea? 

Subsequently, he’d also hoped to have gently, without too much prying (persuade) coaxed her to reveal her true intentions/objective for the future, in order that he may act in accordance with it.

Her elicited response wasn’t altogether unexpected, especially when her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and with a sorrowful look, she then professed in a tragic, definitive tone that she had no family at all to go back to in her native land. 

 “That’s highly improbable.” Stark mused, now rightly intrigued; nevertheless, he forwent persistence, leaving it for her to, later perhaps, when she would be more willing, unfold the rest of her life’s story. At which time she may also profess to the true reasons for her flight. In the interim he was (somewhat) relieved, as it removed the urgency of contact with the outside world, a dangerous precedence that they would have otherwise had been obliged to undertake, risking during it, perhaps their unwarranted disclosure.

As it were, for quite some time now, as long as Svein had been alive, they had dwelt in solitude, far removed from any civilized centers of human habitation.  Only rare, exceptional instances or justified occasions constrained Svein to visit the nearby town, to procure some very necessary supplies (or items). 

This was the lifestyle Stark had elected for them both, and Svein to present knowing no other, had quietly adhered to it.

“Nevertheless,” Stark in an unusual tolerant mood, waved a dismissive hand. “Please excuse me for I am guilty of gross negligence as your host; I should not have been so presumptuously inquisitive, especially with subjects that are clearly injurious to you…Hmm,” after a thoughtful repose, he all the same reluctantly added, “though it is of vital importance, for the time being I shall also refrain from inquiring as to how you’d come by your prior, determinedly supernatural garments; unless of course, you care to elaborate on it succinctly?…” He paused and waited for her apt response.

Once more the bafflement on her face, however, told him all he needed to know. Nodding, he spoke with solemnity: “Fortunately you were spared a third time from a dire danger; shortly after your encounter with the apparition last night, as I was pondering on the concern, I happened to witness the sudden evanescence of your garb and footwear into thin air. Though it might be incongruous, under the circumstances, I was able to procure you on such short notice, a somewhat suitable wear. At a subsequent time, we can perhaps arrange to provide you with far more befitting ones.”

“Please sir,” Teuquob bashfully uttered (voiced). “As troublesome a burden as I have been until now, do not trouble yourself any further on my account, as this is more than adequate, a fine, considerate gift; moreover, I am eternally grateful and feel indebted to you and your nephew for all the protection, saving my life, and kindness you’ve both lavished on me thus …”

It was Stark’s turn to interrupt; he cut her short with a stay of his hand.

 “You needn’t be so obliged, for anyone else would have done the same under the circumstances; and please do not talk of being an inconvenience.” he added in mock anger. “You are a guest in our humble abode; any such talk shames me, declaring me a bad host. You are more than welcome to…”

At this precise moment Svein had returned. Seeing her up and about and conversing in a seemingly comprehensive dialogue with his uncle, he was both delighted and amazed; all the same, he nodded his head in greeting to both.

 Stark at once forgoing the rest of his intent and rising from his seat, addressed Teuquob resolutely: “Now if you be so kind as to return to your room, while I have few words with my nephew in private and appraise him of the recent developments; unfortunately he is not schooled in your dialect and that would (put) render him at a certain disadvantage”.

Before her dismissal however, he also added. “We shall call on you at the earliest convenience, preferably when the table for breakfast is set, unless of course, you’d prefer to have it in your room, this once more?”

“Being the full beneficiary of your competent, conscientious care, I feel perfectly fine and would be delighted to join the esteemed company when summoned.” She hastily responded, as she same time stole a shy glimpse in Svein’s direction, before her blushing, swift exit.

Stark with a wry smile nodded his approval then turned to address his nephew that bore on his face an unconcealed, somewhat astonished, stymied look.

                                                                               ~

All cleaned up, informed of the recent developments, the table for breakfast fully set, ready as Svein was, he could not conceal his bursting inner joy when later that morning Teuquob emerged at the outside again, looking every bit as lovely, radiant and precious.

Coming forward, she duly bowed first to Stark then Svein, her endearing patrons, in proper greeting.

 “Let us forgo (dispense with) the superfluous, inessential formalities.”  Stark decidedly (ejected) addressed her in her native tongue.

Be that as it may, he then properly introduced her to his nephew Svein, with the utmost subtlety, acting as a go-between and translating to each, the spoken responses; then dismissing further protocol, he invited her to a designated seat at the table.

She’d delightedly cooperated; but then noting her inner quandary during the course of the meal and anticipating her ensued thoughts, Stark felt obliged to intercede and fully explained to her that, since there’d been no need up until then, Svein had not been schooled on her native dialect; however, because the present circumstances had necessitated it, Stark would thenceforth set aside some time to instruct both, in the other’s oral (verbal) language. Svein will be taught hers as she in turn shall learn theirs. As he explained this to both, each in turn expressed with heartfelt gratitude their ready assent (concurrence) to this very generous conciliatory measure.

                                                                                     ~

But keen as they were- with Svein well integrating this added study into his already taxed schedule- still it took some time for Teuquob and Svein to master the art to effectively communicate.  In the interim as it was more convenient, Stark and Teuquob freely exchanged facts and likewise experiences in numerous polite conversations.  Svein at such instances being left out of it, consequently his mood, rather state of being, more often than not graduated from being vexed, (annoyed) to miffed (offended), and to Stark’s trained eye, even became irked (peeved).

In response, Stark then purposely prolonged the interesting interchange, easing their conversation gradually to almost bandy- deeming this a good exercise, another apt lesson in remedying Svein’s otherwise impatient nature. 

She on her part was most endearing, for at such instances sensing Svein’s unease, though rather clumsily, would try to include Svein in their ongoing exchange.

                                                                                                  ~

Then there was that slight incidence sometime later, but still at the earlier stage, during one typical evening when Svein after fetching the heavy pot of brewed fragrant tea, he meant to place the just then filled cup beside her, but in that instance, Teuquob in her eagerness to help, had also reached for the same handle with a sweet smile on her lips, as she articulated the words “Thanks, please allow me.”  Comprehending her words, Svein’d smiled, but then meeting her eyes, bashfully he’d averted his and so at that precise moment of awkwardness the accidental touch (collision) of their hands had made both blush crimson. Moreover, Svein’s hand had quivered, almost causing the cup to spill its contents onto the table.

This move had been quietly observed by Stark and subsequently, a barely visible wry smile had registered (manifested) on his taut lips.  He’d looked away, musing: That boy, would he never cease to amaze me?  After all this time, he acts so timorous (shy) around a female, some warrior!  I was not that shy when I was his age.  This last thought, however, had saddened Stark, for then his memories had unwittingly trailed to a girl he had lost his heart to, when he was no older than Svein, merely sixteen years in age.

That very night, long after they’d retired to their respective rooms, as Teuquob had lain awake for a while longer thinking over the day’s events, her thoughts had reverted to that seemingly trivial incidence at suppertime. Envisioning next in her mind’s eye all the events since her rescue- her thoughts had (enumerated) contemplated on Svein’s fine features and noble bearing, his bravery, his stamina, agility and multi-talents. Clear representative of a story book reticent hero Svein was, with unstinting generosity of the heart, and handsome, good looks; he’d been most capable, yet so atypically modest- devoid of least insidious pride- gentle, tolerant, persevering and kind in his many varied ways.  A broad smile then registered on her lips and rosy hue had adorned (dawned on) her face just thinking of his most recent, bashfulness and all his other endearing qualities. Despite all her protestations and self-denial, she’d subsequently found herself strangely drawn to him more so than before, and her heart had palpitated wildly, with feelings of unusual depth. 

(There will be more exciting revelations in the next post of The Rescue, Section 6)