"I MUST TAKE MY LEAVE NOW," Marsil said, uttering his words as whispers into their embrace. The Prince stood at the zenith of the small hill. His arms were wrapped around Esabel and Ferra, and though he was not a man given to emotion, he held on tight.
"Must you really leave?" Esabel snuggled deep into his chest. She loved the smell of him. That wild free flair of wind and sun, of cold and snows, of storm and earth. Her hands fisted the dark material of his tunic and she drew closer, burrowing even deeper on him.
"Yes, Cirana. I must."
