The platter of cheeses, bruised fruit, and surprisingly tender pork had been gathered along their way to the campsite. Hope liked to think of it less as stealing and more as a morally gray area of survival. Like the time-old question: Would you steal bread to feed your family?
Either way, she didn't feel much guilt as it was conveniently on the side of the road anyway. Whoever had left it ought to have been more careful. The campsite itself wasn't lavish, but it certainly helped having a wizard who could conjure necessities like a bedroll or a few pillows.
From her spot by the fire, atop her bedroll, she watched the wizard now. He stood there, studiously combing through a thick tome under his tent as the sun set below the lake which lay beyond, sparkling under the evening light.
"Awful quiet over here," came the rasped, yet somehow silken voice of Astarion. He stood above her as she glanced up. "You've found interest in the wizard, I see."
"Merely curious." Hope shrugged, set down her half-eaten strawberry on the platter, and set it aside. With the way her gums ached, she craved something else. Something she didn't know where she might get. Not without raising suspicion at least.
"That's what they all say," Astarion smirked, "until they wind up their little plaything for the thrill of it all. Not that I blame them. Power is an attractive thing."
Hope snorted.
Narrowing his eyes, Astarion crossed his arms, "Something funny?"
"You sound like you're more attracted to his power than I am."
"Oh, I am, darling," Astarion crouched so his face was level with hers, "but let's not get things misconstrued. I enjoy powerful people who wield power in a way that's less…"
"Heroic?"
"Precisely."
Hope glanced at Gale once more before turning to Astarion, "I was dropped on a foreign beach. My only intention is to go home."
"So, you say." Astarion glanced down at her lips, lingered longer than he should have, and looked back up. "Survival does things to people, my dear. Raises the stakes…and the rewards."
His devilish smirk warped his lips, and Hope noticed the little tips of fangs protruding, but before she could think how she might address it, Astarion stood and said, "Sleep well…"
Why did that somehow sound like a threat?
Hope watched him retreat to his tent, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was more dangerous than he appeared. She'd be keeping an eye on him.
Once more, she glanced at Gale with a parade of internal questions. What kind of magic did he conjure? What was this 'weave' he spoke of? Was it something she could learn too?
As if he could feel her gaze on him, Gale looked up from his book. His studious expression lifted into an easy smile, as if welcoming her to his tent, but Hope quickly looked back at the fire. Like she hadn't just been staring with innate curiosity, he didn't approach her, but she could feel it — his equally quizzical stare.