Around the two, the courtyard's murmurs thinned. A few paladins paused mid-step, as if the sand itself had seized their ankles. The sun threw a flat white glare across steel and linen; in that glare, Misty's grin looked like something smuggled out of spring and hidden under desert light.
Ludwig blinked twice, "Misty, what are you doing here?" he asked, the question was nonchalant, but for everyone else, it meant that Davon the savior of Tulmud was a close acquaintance to their tiny devil.
She hurried toward Ludwig, carrying the suitcase with the ease of a feather in hand, which brought it to Ludwig's attention. The handle creaked once in her grip; the thick silver plates within did not so much as clink. She swung the case up, let it settle at her hip as if it weighed no more than a helm. It was not feigned strength. The ground barely registered the weight.
