Phura, roll and apple in hand, joined them, sitting next to Azraph, smiling nervously and trying to look nonchalant. He failed. Loremaster growled at him. "Don't ruin our disguise."
"That's one of the reasons I came, " Phura muttered. "You'll have to put more dirt on them. Their skin looks too brown."
"Oh, " Loremaster muttered, glancing at the women. Phura was right, and he nodded at them. Nitir sighed, but being seated on the floor, she casually rubbed her hand in the dirt, and then itched her nose, her neck, her forehead. Azra's heart sank. "Get busy, " Nitir told her. She complied.
Phura stared at Azra as she did, and Azra scowled at him. "I suppose you think this is funny."
"No! I'm sorry. No, I don't."
Nitir frowned at her now filthy hands, and having no spoon, realised she had to somehow eat the mush with them. Perhaps she could scoop it up with the bread, holding the bread in ... her filthy hands. She sighed. "Come on, Rose, pretend you've got lice, and get busy."
"Eew, " Azra sighed. "Will you quit staring?" she hissed at Phura.
"Sorry, " Phura mumbled. Azraph squeezed Phura's hand, beaming at him, and Loremaster stifled a smile. Phura inhaled his beakfast and departed.
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...down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve.
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