Fayruz, filled with the vigor of her brother, was a sight to see, indeed! She was both uniquely of the rocklands, garbed in her dirty white reversed robes, and of the White City. Oh, and how she wore them! On her, they seemed not to make her lesser but to make her more, not dressing up or decorating the flower but simply highlighting the beautiful life of her face.
She grasped at Kalandor's hands, entwining her delicate marble-pale fingers about his rough, calloused ones with a bell-like laugh. "Brother," she said, "Most dances here are done alone! However..." She began to move their feet in a familiar pattern, sweeping him into an elegant ballroom dance straight from the White City.
The other dances around the circle quickly stopped. The Fayheran danced with passion, no matter whether they were descended from the dour Dereg or the wild Ma-Shen. When they were happy, they danced with wild abandon; when lustful, with enticing allure; when sad, with great motion and tearing of hair. But none of their dances could match the shadow of elegance shown before the fire. Fayruz was, for a moment, the princess of the White City in all her finery, dancing with her youngest brother. Her hair was as black as the night sky, her skin as bright as the sun caught within marble, and she moved as if she were in the Plaza of Song once more, not trapped down below. They spun and twirled with quiet elegance, caught in the spell of home.
Then the two dancers slowed, they stopped, and Fayruz and Kalandor stood face-to-face, their fingers intertwined so tightly, before the bright glow of the fire. She looked at him, and for a moment she was the most beautiful thing in the world; her eyes were the sun fallen from heaven, her skin as pure and faultless as the White City itself, but for the enticing veneer of her sweat gently slicking it, and her lips were as red as the brightest rubies. If all the gods had some primal terror lurking within them, this was hers: that one might fall in love and never fall back out, unless she were to take pity on you and show you the one who loved you most, to break her spell. But then compassion and warm love marred that terrible beauty, softened it into the beautiful face of a sister and a virgin mother.
"If you want to learn the dances of my people," she said, "I am certain that we would love to teach you. Although there are some more... feminine... dances that you might wish to avoid, darling brother. Avyra or Neive could quite certainly perform them, but... perhaps not one of my brothers."