[Fillip]

Fillip Menagrem stood at the oil-paper window of the shack he shared with
his woman, Denlira, who at the moment was endeavoring to thicken a weak
stew. A yelp and a curse from her did not make him turn, though he did
say, "Shud up. I don't need for you to be whimpering about while I'm
thinking." He brushed back a lock of curling brown hair, but continued his
vigilance at the window.

"I scalded my fingers," she muttered around the damaged fingers, which she
had stuck in her mouth to cool the pain. She found a rag to wrap around
the handle of the battered pot, and moved their dinner off the fire. "Ya
know," she carefully ventured, "We could just move again - like we did
when the folks started burning mages....its not like comin' home's gotten
us any coin."

He vehemently shook his head and hissed, "I _said_ we're not moving.
There's work to be found here - particularly with the festival going on.
Its the best chance we've had in a while."

Denlira knew better than continue on - she saw the stubborn, mean gleam in
Fillip's eye, and knew that if she kept arguing that she'd end up with a
few bruises and the remindered _that_ she had been the one to bash in
Netit's head. That Fillip had come to her rescue - again, and had cleaned
up the problem very nicely. As she dished up their meager dinner she
wondered what the difference she saw between Fillip and her old beau,
Netit. Probably that she knew that Netit was obsessive - hells, look at
the fact that he sought her out after all these years - and that he would
have been the death of her. At least, Fillip, when he wasn't worried,
didn't hit on her, and during all these years he had managed to keep her
fed and housed. And he had been the one to get her out of Montfort during
the burning times; he had unwittingly chosen a time to visit when the town
was at its most dangerous, and had gotten her safely out. Otherwise, she
would had been burned - just like her parents - because they had been
cunning in the use of herbs, and love potions.

She couldn't help but give a whisper of a sigh as she thought back - her
man had magical talent, and had been taken on by a reputable mage as an
apprentice. And he could have been given a decent post - if, in his last
year, he hadn't been caught stealing a valuable amulet from one of the
newer, and wealthier, apprentices. After that Fillip, who had been of a
more even temperament, had a tendency to turn his fustration outward.

"Dinner's on the table," she ventured.

"Put mine back in the pot," Fillip said, reaching up to the hook for his
patched black cloak.

"Where are you going?" Denlira worriedly asked.

Fillip came over and gently took her wan face in his hands, ignoring the
minute tremor of a flinch, and brushed back her limp blond hair. He
lightly kissed her brow and gallantly said, "Don't you be a worrin,'
Denlira, I'm going out to clean up the last of our problems."

She had known something had been fretting at him, and had figured that it
was a fear that the Tower Guard might be able to break his spells, but
this was the first time she had heard him mention other problems. "Like
what?" she asked, resisting the urge to grab hold of his hand - he didn't
like when she got graspy, as he called it.

He kissed her again and said, "Don't fret. Netit must have been supposed
to meet a friend - now some old man is asking around. Nothing to fret over
it - I'll get rid of him. But this time I'll be a little more careful with
the body - somewhere out in the forest ....maybe around where they've
opened up some of those mass graves to bring family home." He chuckled,
"Why let a perfectly good grave go to waste?"

Fillip seemed quite pleased with his small joke, and after a third kiss on
Denlira's even more worried brow, he left.