Dante noticed everything about her. He watched from afar, where he rested in the shade, as she walked determinedly across the beach. Even from such a distance he could tell that her expression would be as stubborn as her stride, and her striking green eyes as bright as he remembered them. She had no intention of stopping, that much was clear, but he could not allow her to pass through his land undisturbed—she was too intriguing.

Especially not when he had seen the obvious roundness of her belly. There were questions to be asked, but more importantly a half-forgotten conversation to be resumed.

He trotted across the sand, his hoof beats quiet whispers, although he knew Rhaella would hear them unless she was particularly determined to keep her metaphorical blinkers in place. Unusually enough, he did not intercept her—if she wanted to go he would not fight her—but he caught up with her, and paused behind her. Dante wasn’t sure if his presence would be enough to stop the fiery woman in her tracks, but he was almost sure (or perhaps hopeful was a better word) that his words would attract her attention.

He did not know what they meant, and he felt foolish saying them unaware of what they might convey, but he was not blunt enough to ask the obvious question, and her peculiar culture interested him greatly. From Rhaella’s mouth they sounded like kind words, and he only hoped that from his own their meaning would not be too greatly misunderstood.

“Aruna keep you,” he said softly, his tone gentle but loud enough for her to hear.

No hellos or pointless chit-chat. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if he had caught her attention.

“What does it mean?”

DANTE
a man possessed of some radical notions