It was different, though, with Seron. Oh, he wanted to
bed her and made no pretense about it, but he truly cared for
her and made that clear in a thousand different ways. He
helped patch the roof of her family’s cottage without asking
for so much as a cup of water in return. He gave her
painting lessons, teaching her everything from mixing
colors to the techniques of his brushstroke. And when she
was terribly sick with an unknown disease – and looked like
a particularly ugly dwarf he had once painted – Seron risked
his own health to help care for her.
The two of them leaned over the bar near each other,
the sea-faring picture between them. “You’re wasting your
time working in this tavern,” Seron said earnestly. “I’ve said
it from the very beginning – you’re smart, talented,
perceptive; you can do more with your life than just serve
ale.”
“You’re only saying I’m smart,” teased Kyra, “because I
like your work.”
He smiled, but shook his head. “I really mean it,” he
insisted.
Involved in their intimate discussion, Kyra paid no
attention to the growing clamor of angry voices calling out
for service.
As for Seron, he hadn’t yet tried to sell his latest
painting, but he saw that Kyra was so enamored of the
picture (and he was so enamored of her) that he suddenly
blurted, “I want you to have it. It’s a gift.”
Kyra was stunned by his offer. Her face turned red, and
it looked as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.
She answered by throwing her arms around him and
kissing him on the lips.
That night Kyra lost her job but found a husband.
Her belief in Seron’s talents was not misplaced;
soon after they were married, he finally began to sell
some of his paintings. He didn’t receive much for them, but
at least it was a beginning. He supplemented their meager
income by painting family portraits for the local tradesmen.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
“Why don’t you give art lessons?” asked Kyra one late
afternoon as she took down the wash that had dried on the
line.
“What? And create my own competition?” he said,
laughing as he folded the clothes she handed him.
“You have a wonderful talent,” she continued, ignoring
him. “You could give classes. I know the kender would love
it; they couldn’t possibly pass up a chance to try their hand
at drawing.”
“What makes you think I’d be any good as a teacher?”
he asked.
“Because you were so good at teaching me.”
“I was good at teaching you,” he said, “because you were
an excellent student. You could do anything you set your
mind to,” he continued. “You settle for too little from
yourself. If only you – ”
“Please! Not that speech again,” she complained.
“But you could be so much more if only you tried,” he
insisted, touching his fingers to the palm of her hand.
“Isn’t that the same thing your brother always says to
YOU?” she countered. “Doesn’t he always say that you’re
wasting yourself on all these pictures?”
He scowled. “Don’t change the subject. We’re talking
about you – and you know I’m right. You’re capable of
doing all sorts of things; you’re too easily content.”
“Content? Me?” she laughed seductively. “Never.” And
with that, she dropped the sheet she had been holding and
began unbuttoning her blouse.
“No one stops an argument like you,” he chuckled,
removing his own shirt.
Their bed was a sheet on the soft grass, their roof was
the afternoon sky, and their souls were one soul long after
their passion was spent.
As the afternoon light faded, Kyra felt a chill. She
snuggled up close to her husband, who tenderly embraced
her. She felt safe in his arms, protected. When he held her
like that, she knew both the strength and the tenderness of
his love. For her, there was nothing in all of Krynn to match
that feeling. Nothing.
Dutifully, Seron gave art lessons to the kender, and
anyone else who was willing to pay. Not that anything
valuable ever changed hands. Despite their enthusiasm, the