Dearborne was a vibrant woman, twenty-nine years of age, with beauty unsurpassed by any other in Phoride and the surrounding kingdoms. Her long brown hair ended in curly locks that fell in front of her and that decorated her creamy neck and shoulders, enhancing the fair, light smoothness of her bosom, which emerged from her low cut gown like the pinkish eggs of the great Kenttitian Eagle. Her totality glistened like the polished marble god-statues from Laurentine. When she spoke, her voice was reminiscent of a loon gliding over still water, during an early morning mist. Her words displayed generations of knowledge which she had taken to her heart and mind, over her seemingly few but happy years of life, with her Lord Brook. She ceased her humming as she ran her hand across her husband's calf. With affection, he returned the caresses to his love; his hand gently rubbing across her silky hair. She spoke without looking up at him or breaking the rhythm of her strokes. "You were not to bed, again, last night. I was worried and came down here to call you. You were asleep. I didn't want to disturb you -- but it doesn't matter." she said, then she looked up at him and smiled. "I know that you were not keeping yourself apart from me." Brook moved his hand to her glowing face, stroked it and smiled at her. He gave her a longing kiss. "I'm sorry, my sweet." he finally said as he helped her up off the floor and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she put hers about his neck. They kissed one another, and held it for the longest time. "Did you close the drapes over the wall, and shut my cabinet door?" he asked her. "Yes!" she answered loyally and put her head on his shoulder. "You've done that so many times, and yet you have never asked me anything about their nature. Somehow you seem to know they should not stay exposed, for the random eye to see!" "It's not my privilege to question what you do, or why you do it. My place is here, at your feet, my love!" she told him in a voice that assured him of her potent and loyal love. Brook kissed her hand. "No, my love! Your place is not at my feet, but at my side. Even so, my place is your place. It has always been and always will be. I love you, Dearborne!" "And I love you, my dearest Brook!" she responded and his trembling heart was calmed by the tranquillizing inflections in her song-like voice. An hour passed by as they sat together. Dearborne was on Brook's lap. Neither one said very much of anything to the other. Only in touches, kisses and embraces, and the volumes of thought that passed between them, did they say anything. They kissed each other again and she turned her body to converse with him more directly. She told him that the ArchBishop sent a messenger earlier in the morning before he was awake, with a request that she would try to get him to the Cathedral, to speak with him.