The Lost Tales

Lord Christophe escorted Lady Anyu walked back to camp formally, a smirk on his face designed to imply romantic conquest to those marking their movements. A woodwind trio consisting of soprano shawm, soprano recorder, and alto recorder shifted their music as couples lined up, the women on the right and the men on the left. With a synchronized breath they played the introduction to “Rufty Tufty,” a tune that sounded like a simplified version of an old Beinarian folk song. Anyu’s eyes widened as Christopher took her hand taking a double set of steps forward, then back before setting and turning first left then right. As they danced, Anyu marveled at Christopher’s dancing. Granted, he confessed to being in Hejing at one time, but that hardly explained the precision of his foot work. Even with the high population and numerous outlets for the arts that came naturally to a planetary capital, a simple resident of such a city would not be quite this skilled in court dances, not without some sort of special connections.

  As this first dance ended, Anyu found herself more and more bewildered yet prudentially said nothing as the next dance, a pavane, commenced. Her mind whirling more vigorously than in any of the dances that night, Anyu resolved herself to simple dance and ask questions later.

  As the moon set beneath the horizon, Anyu parted from Christopher to sleep in Cindy and Geoffrey’s tent as bewildered as ever. With the lightning speed this planet seemed to rotate, she knew dawn must be not even a shir-or away, offering her barely a nap of rest. Drained, she fell into a deep sleep taunted with images merging together of the world of her dreams, of happy times in Beinan, and of the strange person calling himself Christopher.