I had never seen her face before, yet I knew it was her when she walked in. Wearing a red sweater blouse, black skirt and heels, she was even more bea...tiful than I had believed. The bright red lipstick set off her stunning face, while her shining hair fell to her shoulders. She was tan, her nails painted red, and she walked like a woman who knew she attracted men’s attention, and she liked it. I think every straight man in there (and at least half the gay men) in the store turned to look at. And please, ignore the price tags. You're my guest tonight.” Our waiter soon approached. I ordered my ziti, and sure enough, she was brave enough to try the lingini al nero. I smirked at her. “Are you trying to impress me or something?”“Why wouldn't I?” she grinned. “You're fun and gorgeous. And I really want to get into that head of yours when it comes to music. I'm the same way, except with movies.”So she understood my hints earlier. “Oh, I could go on and on for hours about music. Do you. A soft, sibilant whisper, cutting through the air. "Brentt..." He turned, and saw what he had been waiting for, what he had been fearful of. The man. The beast. The Immortal. Sarachan. Or, to give him his full title, Sarachan The Endless. He was tall, dark. Hair flowed like an endless waterfall to his waist, jet black and poker straight. He seemed to suck the light into him, the air blurring and twisting as he moved towards Brentt, the grass parting as he approached. His long raincoat flapped. His name was Quah Nockt, and he had been left without tribe when illness had swept them away, and had been wandering the barren lands seeking his own path to join them when he had caught his leg. The prospect of dying alone and unregarded had changed his resolve, the more so when I and russet dog had appeared to carry him away. He had suddenly found the will to live on, the last remainder of his people, when forced to consider the answer to my question. He guessed he would live on, and see what.
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