“So you’re just going to leave?” Dorn turned from his packing to face her, standing in the doorway, the light from the hallway silhouetting her curvaceous figure through her thin, white sleeping gown and turning her soft hair into a golden halo. He’d been expecting her, but was not looking forward to this. Although they’d discussed it many times, he knew that the reality hadn’t sunk in… until now. “You know I must,” he replied softly, ushering her into the small, spars room and closing the door. Miri stopped by the chest at the foot of the bed, which dominated the cramped space, and laid her hand on the pack that sat on top of it as if hoping it was an illusion and her touch would dispel it. “I know,” she whispered weakly, struggling to hold back her tears. Dorn moved to stand behind her and gently laid his hands on her shoulder as she leaned back against him, her head resting against his hard, muscular chest. She was no petite girl or frail maid, but her voluptuous figure was dwarfed by his massive form. Nearly a head taller than most men, he stood a head and neck taller than her and his wide, powerful shoulder spanned nearly twice hers. “I must take my vowels in the morning,” he explained in a soft voice what she already knew, “and once I do there will be no place for me here.” “You could stay and tend the shrine,” she spun to face him, looking up into his face with frail hope. “We’ve talked of this already,” he replied, wrapping her in his muscular arms, as she reached up and encircled his neck in hers. “The Abbot has been generous in letting me stay as long as he has. Once I take my vowels to Torm I must leave.” Miri knew he was right. The Abbot was a just man, but a ridged one. The Abby of the Just Hammer is a temple of Tyr and, although he allowed a shrine to Torm, his divine underling, within its walls, he would not allow a servant of the Loyal Fury to remain permanently. “I must follow the path Torm has laid before me,” Dorn smiled softly down at her and bent his head towards hers as she craned hers upwards and rose up on her toes till their lips met. It began as a soft, gentle kiss, but she demanded more and pressed her buxom breast into his muscular abdomen, while his hands reached lower until they cupped her shapely buttocks. “If this is to be our last night together,” she announced in a demanding tone when their kiss finally broke, “we’ll not spend it talking!” “Oh,” Dorn inquired as a wicked grin turned his lips, “how will we spend it then?” Miri looked up into his face with a look of determination and desperate need; “Making thunder to match Tyr’s own hammer!”