115/115  106/106  82/157  I am standing
Farmiyet Court at the Barekai Stone [NW]
The pale beige clay flags that pave Farmiyet Court stop short about
twenty cords west of the cliff face, where a semi-circular desert
garden erupts in a low mound. At the center of what would be the
circle if it were a complete circle stands a tall, fingerlike monolith
of black stone. The flutter and twitter of the enormous flock of
cliff shrews that populate the eastern cliff is an incessant backdrop
of steady sound, making the conversation and traffic of the Court to
the west and the animated cries of hawkers in the market to the south
seem distant and indistinct. A narrow path of extremely fine loose
white sand leads a wending, convoluted path through the garden to a
small mat immediately before the stone.
A short, well-toned woman with darkly tanned skin is here.
The svelte, whip-haired man is standing here.
The middle-aged, sable-haired man is standing here, looking tired.
The indigo-eyed little toddler is standing here.
The diminutive, dark-haired woman is here, halfway up the cliff.

(point of view=diminutive, dark-haired woman)

Glancing up at you, his handhold about at your boot, the middle-aged, 
sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "..well, mornin'.."

A little plaintively, you say to the middle-aged, sable-haired man, in bendune:
    "Kal, I'm stuck."

The svelte, whip-haired man exclaims, in bendune:
     "Watch out!"

The svelte, whip-haired man grimaces as you sways a little.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man grunts softly, his foot slipping free 
at the exclamation, leaving him momentarily dangling.

You exclaim, in bendune:
     "Careful!"

The middle-aged, sable-haired man scrambles briefly, his leg grinding 
against the rock until he regains his foothold.

The well-toned, dark-skinned woman grimaces as the middle-aged, 
sable-haired man slips a little.

Back over his shoulder, half shouted down, the middle-aged, sable-haired man 
says to the svelte, whip-haired man, in bendune:
     "..i'm tense enough, thank ya!  Mrmph.."

The svelte, whip-haired man's tense mask fades into a slight smile, 
down below the middle-aged, sable-haired man.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman shifts her grip on the rocky wall, 
sending the other boot toe searching for possible footholds.

The well-toned, dark-skinned woman says to the indigo-eyed toddler, in bendune:
     "See ... what Spar said was true. Only expert climbers would recover 
from slips like that."

The middle-aged, sable-haired man eases his way a cord or so over, then begins 
working his way up the cliff face, almost brushing against you as he rises 
to the precarious perch alongside her.

The well-toned, dark-skinned woman smiles upwards.

The svelte, whip-haired man chuckles softly.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman maintains a firm grip on the rocky shelf, 
gaze flicking sideways.

Firmly, while his gaze searches for better hand and footholds, the middle-aged,
sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "..be still, kaermi.."

Under her breath, you say, in bendune:
     "Mmm, all right."

Rubbing his chin as he watches, the svelte, whip-haired man says, in bendune:
     "Hmmm ..."

The svelte, whip-haired man feels his body, patting it as if looking for 
something.

Settling his weight on a foot and his handholds, the middle-aged, 
sable-haired man works his other foot around, planting it on a barely 
perceptible outcropping between your feet.

The svelte, whip-haired man shakes his head, taking hold of the indigo-eyed 
toddler's hand again.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man shifts over closer, and slides an arm 
around you, until finding a handhold on the other side of her.

Under her breath, you say, in bendune:
     "Like I'm going anywhere."

Quietly, the well-toned, dark-skinned woman says to the svelte, whip-haired man, in bendune:
     "Looks intimate."

The svelte, whip-haired man glances at the well-toned, dark-skinned woman a 
little sharply, and she smiles in reply.

Very softly, his body a protective shield keeping you between him and the 
solid rock, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..nowhere, mija.  Now, we'll come down slow-like.."

The faintest hint of panic creeping into her tone, you say to the middle-aged, 
sable-haired man, in bendune:
    "That would involve moving..."

The words floating down from above, half twisted by the storm, the 
middle-aged, sable-haired man asks, in bendune:
     "..unless, a'course, you'd like ta wait tha night up here, while someone gets some rope..?"

The diminutive, dark-haired woman shakes her head very slightly, glancing back 
down at the ground and quickly averting her gaze.

You ask the middle-aged, sable-haired man, in bendune:
    "Which way?"

The middle-aged, sable-haired man leans closer to you again, his surmac 
suddenly caught by the wind and swept from his head, fluttering slowly to the 
ground below.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man stops using an used veiled, wide-brimmed surmac.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man drops an used veiled, wide-brimmed surmac.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "..eventually?  Down.  But.."

His grip on the rock shifting, so as to tighten his arm a little more around 
you, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..first, back to the left, i'll show you every handhold.."

The diminutive, dark-haired woman shifts, foot prodding gingerly along the 
rocky cliff face as she moves, towards the left.

The svelte, whip-haired man and the well-toned, dark-skinned woman watch with 
bated breath, the indigo-eyed toddler between them.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man moves one hand and rests it lightly atop 
your own, guiding it to a handhold, his own foot shifting over, finding more 
precarious, but more practiced footing.

The well-toned, dark-skinned woman nudges the svelte, whip-haired man.

The svelte, whip-haired man glances over, then nods to the well-toned, dark-skinned woman.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman barely nods, relinquishing a white knuckled 
grip on an outcropping as she reaches for the next handhold.

Patiently and tenderly, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..good, good kaermi.. Yer a natural.."

The middle-aged, sable-haired man remains in place half around you, his form 
almost a shield around her, keeping her between himself and the rock as they 
creep along the cliff face.

The well-toned, dark-skinned woman nudges the svelte, whip-haired man again, and he grimaces slightly.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man shifts a little further over, then leans back 
juuust a bit, allowing his gaze to drift along the cliff face below them.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman's fingers close around the handhold, her 
weight shifting as she cautiously explores the cliff face with her foot.

Above the diminutive, dark-haired woman's head, several small furry heads 
emerge from one of the cliff shrew nests, watching intently downward.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..excellent, Mirabai.. now..

The middle-aged, sable-haired man spares a glance downward, then back to you, 
giving a comfortable, warm smile.

Encouragingly, the svelte, whip-haired man exclaims, in bendune:
     "Doing well!"

His voice rising long enough for a few words to float down below, the 
middle-aged, sable-haired man asks, in bendune:
     "..Senka's in tha Outpost.. ask 'im if'n he's settled on 'xactly what deal we're goin' with with tha Kuraci..?"

The diminutive, dark-haired woman's gaze flicks up towards the shrews, a 
faint frown hovering on her face and momentarily replacing the panic.

To the cliffshrew, the middle-aged, sable-haired man asks, in bendune:
     "..come ta play, ey?"

Towards the shrews, in a polite tone, you ask, in bendune:
     "And what are we looking at?  Would I come stare at you, if you were trapped somewhere?"

Voice softening, lips close enough to almost graze your ear as he stands 
protectively around you, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..we're gonna scamper down like you'd just turned us both ta cliffshrews.. just slower."

You whisper to the middle-aged, sable-haired man,
       "IÕm scared I'm going to fall."

Firmly, a hand moving momentarily from its handhold to wrap snugly around 
your waist, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..yer not.  I won' allow that."

The diminutive, dark-haired woman nods almost imperceptibly, glancing down the 
cliff towards her feet.

Very softly, you ask, in bendune:
     "All right...down?"

The middle-aged, sable-haired man regards you for a long, silent moment, his 
chestnut eyes flickering over your face, then coming to rest on your eyes.

His expression rugged and distant, but his eyes failing to conceal a 
firey affection, the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..down."

The diminutive, dark-haired woman returns the gaze, the look of panic 
slowly replaced by trust.

You say, in bendune:
     "Mmm, yes, of course.  Down."

The middle-aged, sable-haired man nods firmly.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman wavers a little, shifting a foot slowly 
down along the cliff face.

To herself, you say, in bendune:
     "Down."

Even as they start to move down, his expression softens in some unknown way, 
growing in a certain confidence with only the trust in your eyes, the 
middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..good, good.."

Very reluctantly, the diminutive, dark-haired woman looses her firm grasp on 
one handhold to search for the next, shifting lower along the cliff face.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man shifts his boot from a toehold, 
lowering himself down first, cord by slow cord, then reaching a hand up to 
gently guide you down, as needed..

The middle-aged, sable-haired man uses his own booted foot to nudge your 
foot to the broader footholds, managing to keep a free arm around you as 
they descend, torturously slow.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman barely breathes as she moves with 
excrutiating slowness along the rocks, gradually inching her way 
painfully down, holding -very- tightly to each handhold.

Pausing long enough to aaalmost nuzzle his lips against your neck, 
the middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..relax.. it's like a bow, too tight, and on the release, the tension 
jerks your hand -- and the arrow -- from its course."

Eyes almost closed, relying more on touch to guide herself along than 
anything else, you ask the middle-aged, sable-haired man, in bendune:
    "Are we on the ground yet?"

Not bothering to actually check, the middle-aged, sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "..almost.. just another step or so.."

The diminutive, dark-haired woman nods, reassured, continuing to work her way down.

The middle-aged, sable-haired man leads the way slowly down, guiding, his hands 
gentle but confidently firm in helping you along from grip to grip.

In a murmur, you ask, in bendune:
     "Now?"

With only the faintest trace of amusement in his tone, overshadowed by a kind 
tenderness, the middle-aged, sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "..we -could- jump from here.."

Immediately panicked and grabbing firmly at the handhold, you say, in bendune:
     "Jump?  No, no...."

Sparing a soft laugh, his arm tightening immediately around you in a 
comforting, protective gesture, the middle-aged, sable-haired man 
whispers to you:
     "..almost as close as the mattress to the floor, kaermi.. iss alright."

Dubiously, you ask, in bendune:
     "You're sure?"

The middle-aged, sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "Mmmhmm.  Pretty sure.. you could even open those eyes, i think.."

The middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..i can barely function without a glance in their depths, time ta time.  Y'know that?"

Simply trusting, although her eyes remain firmly closed, the diminutive, 
dark-haired woman releases her deathgrip on the outcropping.

His arm around you softens, his hand a tender caress around your waist, the 
middle-aged, sable-haired man whispers to you:
     "..good.  Another cord down..follow my leg and foot with yours.."

The diminutive, dark-haired woman slides her foot along, following the 
middle-aged, sable-haired man's leg, her eyes flickering open, glancing at 
the middle-aged, sable-haired man for reassurance.

As you sets your foot down, almost atop the middle-aged, sable-haired man's 
own, the toehold seems remarkably flat and firm, his body still close.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman looks down at the ground, blinking.

As he runs over, the indigo-eyed toddler asks, in bendune:
     "Whereizzit?"

The middle-aged, sable-haired man spreads a familiar, comfortable smile at 
you, then shifts his gaze as the indigo-eyed toddler approaches.

A long, shuddering breath escaping her, you say to the indigo-eyed toddler, in bendune:
    "Mmmm, I think it's still up there."

You say to the middle-aged, sable-haired man, in bendune:
    "The getting up there part was much much easier..."

The middle-aged, sable-haired man chews delicately on his lower lip for a moment, regarding you.

The diminutive, dark-haired woman maintains a grip on the middle-aged, sable-haired man's arm, glancing back up at the cliff face.

His gaze and tone meaningful, the middle-aged, sable-haired man says to you, in bendune:
     "It's always too easy to go one way, an' difficult tha other, seems like..