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[For Charles Vane] A Token of Gratitude

It had been a few days since Charles had rescued Anne after she had been kidnapped by Ned Low. Anne had been initially reluctant to engage in any activity of a remotely sexual nature. She had allowed Charles to hold her, but that was all. Over the past few days they had shared a kiss or two, but Anne had found herself so shaken by the event that she had not initiated or indulged any playful activities.

But she felt so guilty for it. Charles had gone to all the trouble and lost a good many men to save her - all for her to show her gratitude by refusing his touch. True enough, he had told her not to worry herself over how many men had died in her rescue attempt, but she couldn't help worrying. Silently at night she prayed for them. Which may have been a silly thing; the men themselves would likely have laughed at her for such efforts.

But it comforted her.

Then of course there was the fear that Charles would seek his satisfaction elsewhere. Anne, in her logical mind, figured it was unlikely that Charles would pursue another woman, or multiple women - but this was not an occasion for her logical mind. Her more emotional mind ran away with her, spinning vivid images of Charles with other women while her back was turned. Of course she berated herself for being ridiculous and never spoke a word of such fears to Charles.

It was her doing, and she knew it. And enough time had passed, it was time to put her silly anxiety behind her. Ned Low was gone; dead and gone. And word of the event had spread so it was unlikely to repeat itself again.

Anne had gone to town and bartered some of her treasure shares with a visiting merchant. She purchased a red velvet gown with a plunging neckline and open front to show her long legs, while only just barely covering her womanhood. Her favorite garnet necklace rested snugly against her cleavage. Anne had kept a long black cloak over her to conceal herself before the crew as she went to Charles' cabin. It was dark, it was late - there was no one to see her really, but it paid to be careful. Anne stepped into the cabin quietly, finding Charles asleep on the bed, just as she had wanted. She let the cloak drop as she quietly closed the door behind her. With bare feet she crept up to the bed, and carefully settled beside him. Her fingers teased against his thigh while she leaned over him and let her lips brush over his.

"Charles," she whispered his name softly as her fingers brushed the ties of his pants.

[For Charles Vane] Capture the Queen

True to her word, Anne had returned to Eleanor Guthrie's pub late the next morning after her..."discussion" with Charles. It had taken her some time upon waking that morning to recover the use of her legs. She didn't want to go wobbling into Eleanor's office, no. She would walk in tall and authoritative. Which was precisely what she did. Anne walked into the pub with two pirate guards from the Ranger in tow.

At first Eleanor had refused to see her, but Anne was not about to take "no" for an answer. She'd practically forced her way in, and made her case to Eleanor - making a political apology, which was hardy an apology at all. Anne pointed out precisely what she had stated to Charles the night before; essentially how Eleanor couldn't afford to lose the business brought in by the Ranger, and how the new lady of the crew had an eye for finer ships and treasures. Anne was an asset, and she was determined to prove it.

Reluctantly Eleanor had accepted Anne's not-apology, and things were smoothed over between the two women. Anne left the pub satisfied in her mission. The pirate guards followed after her, mildly impressed with her work. But then again, women were of course well-known for being cunning and manipulative; Boleyns even more so.

Anne was so pleased with herself that she didn't realize they were being stalked. Until it was too late. Someone sprang from the shadows and slit the throat of one of her guards, spraying deep red blood all over Anne. The other guard was grabbed, but he was larger and struggled against his attacker. But the distraction was all Ned Low needed to step up behind Anne and press his blade to her slender throat.

"There's a pretty bird. Don't try and fly away now, may have to clip those wings," his voice made Anne cringe, but she didn't struggle. One wrong move and her throat would be open faster than any sealed letter.

The pirate guard that had accompanied her broke free, but realizing there was no saving the lady without risking Ned slitting her throat - and being unwilling to deliver such news to his captain - he bolted. At the very least, he would get back to Vane and tell him what happened. Anne was Ned Low's prisoner, for now. Ned secured her wrists behind her back and dragged her back to the brothel in town, paying for a room before dragging Anne further, up the stairs and to the room he'd purchased. He was reluctant to take her back to the Fancy, lest her Captain take out his frustration on the ship in an effort to reclaim her.

[For Hannibal] The Raid

Since the Lannister execution and the overthrowing of Tommen Baratheon, Hannibal had settled into the Iron Throne rather comfortably with Margaery at his side. The Bolton reign had begun. And having already amassed a strong brood of children, the dynasty looked as if it would be set for some time.

Of course there were those who opposed their new King. Remnants of those loyal to the Lannisters, or the true Targaryen loyalists who considered Hannibal an unworthy successor in comparison to Daenerys. There were minor uprisings, which were put down with ease between the Bolton and Tyrell army.

But a raven arrived one morning from Winterfell.

The royal family sat at the breakfast table. Rhys and Reina were bickering over the last biscuit, while Aenar crumbled his food between his tiny fingers, and Margaery held Lorys to her breast to feed her. A servant brought the note, addressed to Margaery, which Margaery took with her free hand. Her expression turned grave as she looked to Hannibal.

"It's from Sansa. She says a few days ago a messenger from the Dreadfort arrived and told her that there was activity stirring on the Iron Islands..." she was nervous. The Ironborn were a salty, devious lot. Her grandmother had always preferred the quasi-savage Dornish to the Ironborn.

No sooner had she read the message, then the signal horn sounded and Gold Cloak rushed in. Black sails bearing the golden kracken were approaching Blackwater Bay at top speed - faster than any ship they'd yet seen. Margaery went pale.

[For Charles Vane] Nights in Nassau

After her first few days in Nassau, Anne stormed out of the pub in a huff, two of Vane's pirates in tow behind her. Guards. Insurance. At least until she could figure out how to properly handle a sword or pistol.

At least with her new wardrobe she didn't look quite so ridiculous as she had when they'd first arrived in Nassau. Charles' clothes were fine but of course they wouldn't be as trendsetting on a lady as Anne would have liked. She'd been able to put together a long skirt, which she'd put a long slit up the front and back so she'd be able to move easier. Pants were something she was still growing accustomed to, but they fit well enough under the long skirt and tucked into a decent pair of black boots. A dark wine-purple shirt covered by a tanned black leather corset finished the outfit she'd so carefully crafted. Hardly the fine silks and velvets she was used to wearing, but still moderately fashionable, and what jewels she'd kept still made her look fair and lovely.

But of course, such a commanding and entitled presence that she brought and maintained had earned her a sharp laugh from the blonde bitch of Nassau, Eleanor Guthrie. A laugh that Anne had answered with a sharp smack to Eleanor's face; but of course, it had only taken a slight curling of her fingers to bring her fine nails to drag over Eleanor's face as she'd struck. Naturally Eleanor's bouncers weren't too keen on that, and the two pirates that had accompanied Anne had urged her to leave before things got too dicey. Reluctantly, Anne had taken their advice.

So they returned, and once back Anne petulantly dropped herself into the first available chair she'd found. Fiddling with her necklace of deep red rubies, Anne pouted. She had hoped to establish some manner of dominance here. In England, in Henry's court, it had been relatively easy; play the part of the obedient young lady for the older nobles who wanted to use her for political gain, play the part of the enchanting seductress and mistress of the night for Henry for her own gain. Manipulating them all - but men were easier to trick than women.

And unfortunately for Anne, it seemed the majority of power here was controlled by women. This would be more difficult than she had anticipated.

Rather than fiddle with her necklace all day and draw attention to one of the few valuables that remained to her, Anne took a dagger that she'd lifted off some poor drunk her first night in Nassau, and turned it over in her hands. Examining her reflection in the blade.

[For Elphaba] The Wicked Witch of Barsoom

Barsoom was not a war-torn planet, but it was by no means peaceful. The inhabitants of Helium still had tension with the primitive Tharks. There were raids on trade routes daily that the Jeddak had to deal with. For the most part, Dejah was not involved with the affairs of her father. She was too busy working with her theories and scientific research.

The presence of John Carter had brought more knowledge of the Ninth Ray to Helium. Dejah was determined to harness the power of the Ninth Ray to use it herself.

But for the moment, she was content to relax, sitting in the red sand gardens maintained in the royal courtyard. Dejah was clad in her usual loose silks, which had plenty of cutouts and openings to reveal her skin and the patterns tattooed along her long legs and slender arms. Jewels and metals adorned her neck and waist and wrists. Dejah Thoris, the princess of Helium, was renowned as one of - if not the - most beautiful women on Barsoom. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back, part of it secured at the crown of her head with an ornate metal jeweled pin. Her eyes, the richest blue, were pouring over a text of mythology.

She tried to keep her mind off of the husband that had gone missing. She tried not to think of John Carter of Earth.

[For Will - Modern AU] What Secrets do Masks Hide?

It was strange, to find herself here. Margaery Tyrell came from a noble house, the Tyrell family in England. Her father was a wealthy tycoon in his own right, but in truth the main fortune of the family was earned from generations before.

They were well-known from the reality show Tailing the Tyrells. Recently Margaery had fled England after a scandal broke out about her brother Loras and the nobleman Renly Baratheon. The man Margaery had been arranged to marry. Of course Margaery had abandoned that possibility, and came to the States for a new, fresh start. As part of her adjustment, she had started seeing Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and he had helped a great deal.

But there was something lingering and dark about him that made her nervous...

Hannibal had invited Margaery to the masquerade costume party he was hosting. Margaery had been apprehensive, but after some convincing, she relented. So there she stood, in Hannibal's dining room as hors d'oeuvres were served. Margaery wore a mask of black velvet and green lace accents to compliment her green dress with black lace sleeves. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, secured in sections with bright green ribbons that kept her mane tamed and lovely. Across her cream-colored neck were dark jewels in silver setting.

She didn't know anyone here, even after Dr. Lecter had pressed her to talk to some of the other guests. Margaery didn't want anyone recognizing her from the show and asking her questions about her family, her brother especially.

So Margaery busied herself with sipping white wine from a glass and looking over the artwork that decorated Dr. Lecter's walls.

[For Will - Westeros AU] Northern Hounds and Southern Flowers

"I don't see why hunting hounds should be of any interest to me," Margaery Tyrell took a bite out of the apple tart she'd procured from the kitchens. "That's Loras's game. Loras and Willas are the hunters, you know father never approved of my learning to hunt."

"It gets you out of the Red Keep and away from the lion's den," Olenna Tyrell pointed out. "Can't say no to that, can you?"

"True enough," Margaery had to admit, popping the last bit of tart into her mouth. "But all the same, I don't know the first thing about hounds."

"Then it's a bonus," Olenna laughed. "You'll get out of the Red Keep, and you'll learn something new. Now, go on, get down to the courtyard, I'm told the Kennel Master from the North is setting up his hounds as we speak."

"You're not coming?" Margaery's question was answered by how the older woman shooed her off. She all but swatted Margaery in the rear to get her to go.

Margaery rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same and made her way down from the gardens and through the halls of the castle. Finally she made her way to the courtyard, following the sound of dogs barking. Jaime Lannister was already there, looking at a few hounds, pointing out what he was looking for in a hound and what he expected for his nephews' hunt. Margaery, in the meantime, took to looking over some of the pups that had been brought along that were tumbling over each other and nipping and yipping aloud. Margaery smiled as she reached down and stroked her slender fingers over the soft fur of one of the female pups. "Hello there, aren't you sweet." She laughed softly.

[For Jorah/Hannibal] Homecoming

In Essos, Daenerys had given birth to a healthy and lively baby girl. She had her father's dark eyes but the light hair and full face of her mother. It was shortly after her birth that a letter arrived from across the Shivering Sea - too far for a raven to fly. It came from King's Landing and bared the Bolton seal. The letter invited Daenerys back to Westeros, but not to reclaim the Iron Throne. Apparently, Hannibal Bolton had taken control of King'sLanding, and the Starks had all but been demolished. The Lannisters, in turn, had also been eradicated.

Daenerys was shocked. But more than that, she suspected treason. As did Tyrion Lannister. With her newborn daughter to her breast, Daenerys took council with Jorah, Grey Worm, Missandei and Tyrion.

"Who does this Bolton think he is?" She snapped. "Inviting me back without promising to relinquish the throne to me? It is mine by birthright, I will not allow some savage northman to take what is mine."

Lannister, Baratheon, Bolton - the name didn't matter. A thief was a thief.

"If he took King's Landing and defeated the Lannister army, my queen, then we can conclude that he indeed has a powerful army of his own," Tyrion pointed out.

****

A few weeks had gone by, and Margaery's belly had begun to swell only slightly with their fourth child. Of course Olenna could spot this a mile away and was already declaring name options. Aenar was with the pair of them while they took tea in the gardens overlooking the ocean. The boy was now sitting up on his own in his mother's lap, but still feed from her breast. The twins were studying with their tutors.

"So tell me child," Olenna sipped her tea. "What is your husband's intention by inviting the Targaryen girl back here?"

Aenar cooed when Roose came close and he patted his hands over the dragon's nose. Margaery glanced up to her grandmother, who added more to her question.

"Don't tell me he means to surrender his throne to her, now that they have a confirmed common lineage?" Olenna scoffed.

"Certainly not, grandmother," Margaery replied sharply. "Do you honestly think my husband is the type of man to relinquish power? No. But if you're so curious, all him yourself, he should be joining us shortly."

[For Jorah] Secrets Beneath the Stars

Daenerys Targaryen had been married to Khal Drogo for some months now. She'd adjusted to the life of a khaleesi very well, but Daenerys was not drawn to her wedded husband. He was hard, unyielding and unfeeling. Khal Drogo knew nothing of softness and compassion - the Dothraki had no use for such things. While Daenerys valued a man of strength and a commanding presence, she also needed that soft touch every once in a while.

She found solace in Jorah the Andal.

He was kind, and they spoke often of the Seven Kingdoms and the world she had been forced to leave behind. The world she would retake when she returned to Westeros. Daenerys was happy to be able to have that kind of intellectual stimulation in Jorah Mormont.

But more and more lately, she found her eyes lingering upon his form longer than they should. She found herself wondering what it would be like to peel back the dusty layers of his clothing and leathers to let them fall to the sand beneath their feet. It was those times that she separated herself from him, fearful of what she might do or say. There was many a night that, as Drogo fucked her and even afterward, she thought of Jorah and what it would feel like to lie beneath him or sit atop him. But of course she was married and could not entertain such a thought - Drogo would likely kill Jorah for Daenerys even thinking of it.

So she said nothing, and focused on minor day-to-day tasks. This particular evening, Khal Drogo and the majority of his men had ridden out for an evening hunt. Daenerys sat outside her tent, and couldn't help watching with interest as Jorah sparred with one of the few men who had been left behind. She could see how his shirt was drenched in sweat and clung to his muscular form. Daenerys excused herself and retired to her tent after watching the exchange for a long while. She felt her control slipping.

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[For Hannibal] Alliance of Fire

Renly Baratheon was dead, leaving his claim to the throne empty and his wife Margaery Tyrell a widow. Roose Bolton, of course, could spy an opportunity a mile away. He sent a raven to Highgarden, to Lord Mace Tyrell. Roose proposed that his youngest son and only legitimate heir be married to Margaery. Mace agreed, rather quickly as well - likely out of fear for the Bolton name.

But of course, Olenna Tyrell wasn't about to let that agreement happen. At least not on any terms but her own. So the agreement was made, but a time for delivering her to Winterfell had not been determined, and Olenna was not about to agree to one.

Ramsay Snow, wanting to be useful to his father and acknowledged as a true Bolton, decided to take action on his own. He took a small band of Bolton men and rode to Highgarden - he knew Margaery was there, after her day-long marriage to the late King Joffrey had ended. He kidnapped the Tyrell heiress and rode back to Winterfell. When he arrived, he dragged Margaery in with no amount of mercy or delicacy. He found his half-brother and father in a sitting room going over charts and battle strategies. Margaery, clad in a light dress with a keyhole opening at the front showing her cleavage and wrapping around her lower back, showing off the curves of her back and the lean muscle beneath her skin. Her skin was cold and covered in goosebumps, her lips slightly dark and a light shade of blue. But all the fire and anger was in Margaery's eyes. She wrenched herself free of Ramsay's grip and pulled her lips back to bare her teeth.

"Unhand me, mongrel!" she hissed.

"Dear father, brother - see what I've brought? We'll not have the Tyrells welching on their agreement any longer," Ramsay grinned. "The flower is a little frosty, but only because she did not appreciate my generosity of allowing her to ride in the carriage."

"What I did not appreciate was a bastard snatching me from my ancestral home and dragging me with no proper clothes into the North," Margaery snapped.

She so badly wanted to shift towards the fire, but she was bound and determined to stand tall and tough. Ramsay obviously thought her weak, she would prove him wrong.

[For Saft] On the Eve of Battle

He had sensed Archer and his master here. Against his wishes they were hiding in the foliage of the forest, waiting for a sign of movement in the dark. This just wasn't his style, and it showed in how he fidgeted.

If Rider had his way, he would be leading the charge into the trees and barreling through everything until he found Archer and broke him. Literally broke him.

...but that's not what Saft wanted. So he knelt beneath the taller trees, fidgeting in discomfort. Desperately his eyes searched for a sign of movement.

"...anything yet?" Rider asked, almost whining. He was whispering, as best he could anyway - it was a normal speaking level for anyone else.

[For Medusa] Unlikely Partnership

It hadn't been that long ago since he found Medusa. For whatever reason, she had been held in that lab he investigated, and he could tell she was trouble. Why go through so much effort to restrict her after all? But with guns pointed his way, there was no choice but to release her.

After much blood left thanks to their combined efforts, they had managed to escape, fleeing to a hotel. He sat across from her, staring as she seemed so relaxed.

"So...you never quite explained what you are."

[For Jorah] Under the Targaryen Banner

The rebellion had been crushed.

The Baratheons were punished and Robert was beheaded for leading the charge against the Targaryen banner. Battles had been waged and fought all across Westeros, and luckily for the Targaryens, they had plenty of loyal supporters who fought for them. The Mormont clan were such supporters. Particularly Jorah Mormont, who was knighted by the King when the war was over.

But he didn't stop there.

Jorah's loyalty and devotion to the Targaryen banner was so great and his deeds were so admirable that the King took it a step further. He made Jorah Warden of the North, and sent his youngest child, his daughter Daenerys, to meet Jorah at Winterfell.

Another reward for Ser Jorah Mormont: She was to be his bride.

Daenerys wasn't sure how she felt about the North. On the carriage ride all she did was pull the furs about her tighter, to keep her warm. When they finally arrived at Winterfell, it began to snow lightly all around them. A Gold Cloak had been sent North to see that Daenerys was delivered safely, and he opened the carriage door for her to let her out.

[For Jorah] A True Mother

Peace in the Seven Kingdoms.

It had been hard-won, but things were finally settling down. Daenerys had crushed the Lannister resistance and all its supporters with minimal casualties. Most of the Westerosi people were too happy to see the lions stripped of their power. Some were still wary of having a dragon on the throne again, but Daenerys had proven that she was not her father. Far from it, she was kind and forgiving - though not weak by any stretch of the imagination.

And she could not have been happier with Jorah by her side.

Nights in the Red Keep were hot enough, and every night he worked her into such a frenzy of lust that the scent of their bedroom seemed to smell perpetually of sweat and sex and love. Thus it came as no surprise to her maids when Daenerys once again began missing her bleeding, and as her breasts became fuller. Daenerys had not been certain that she could believe that, once again, she was pregnant. To be sure, without telling Jorah, she went to the Maester and had him test her to be certain.

It was true: Daenerys was pregnant.

Overjoyed, Daenerys instructed the servants that she would take dinner in her bedroom and to send the king consort to her when it was time for dinner. She waited patiently in their bedroom, in the balcony overlooking the city. The servants brought dinner and set it up on the table for them before leaving Daenerys alone to wait for Jorah. The wine had gone unpoured at her instructions, and the jug was on Jorah's side of the table. Daenerys could hardly contain her excitement.

[For Eric] Mission Objective: Rescue the Damsel

A descendant of the fabled witch, Morgan Le Fae. Anne could hardly believe such a thing was even possible. Still, since her brief encounter with the sorceress in a dream, her talent for magic had been unlocked and she'd been able to conjure spells. It seemed to make sense anyway, considering that many in her time had called her a witch. Might as well enjoy the perks of it, right?

Anne had been practicing in Eric's apartment day after day, using her magic to light candles, and conjure minor spirits to talk to when Eric was gone on a mission. But she was getting bored. She wanted to go out and use her magic to help him with these missions of his! But she wasn't sure how he'd react to such a desire. She hadn't ran the idea by him just yet.

[For Jorah bearinshiningarmor] The Trust of a Khaleesi

Jorah had left her chambers early in the morning to avoid being seen by the servants. Daenerys had given him one last kiss goodbye, still reluctant to let him go. But she knew it had to be done. She knew that she had to remain strong and that he would have to publicly earn her trust again. If he wanted to be in her circle again, he would have to win the right.

Ser Barristan and Daario would not permit Jorah withing three feet of their Khaleesi without some proof that he could be trusted.

Thus, after she dozed off for a little while longer, Daenerys rose from bed and had the servants dress her for the day in a gown of blue and white fabric. She then made her way to the throne room and settled into her seat to receive complaints and concerns from her subjects. This was the open forum during which they could bring issues to her attention without fear.

Barristan and Daario were already there, the latter gave the Khaleesi a little wink, now that he had returned from his brief mission. Daenerys gave a weak smile, and blushed as images of Jorah flashed through her mind from the night before.

[For Jorah] Reclaiming Dragons

Viserion and Rhaegal had been locked away in the larger dungeons. It had absolutely killed Daenerys to do it, but she could not have her children flying about killing innocent people. Innocent children especially. But they were feral now - angry. Each time she had tried to enter the dungeon both her dragons had snapped viciously at her and breathed intense plumes of fire at her that had Daenerys feeling terror she hadn't felt in some time.

This was what she had tasked Ser Jorah with: Helping her regain control of her dragons, her children. When he had been by her side, all had been well - the instant he left, everything had begun to fall apart. Nothing had gone as smoothly as it once had after she had exiled Jorah. But he was back now, that's what mattered.

Perhaps he had been right when he had said she'd babied her dragons too much. But she hadn't had it in her to physically discipline them, or bring them harm in general.

They stood before the dungeons, the stone door had been rolled aside, but there was only ink-black darkness that stared back at them. Daenerys couldn't help but breathe deep, showing her fear when she stood beside him. Deep down she worried, what if she never regained control of her children? Had she been foolish to call herself the Mother of Dragons?

Her violet eyes glanced up to him, trying to maintain some semblance of her strength and ferocity. But Jorah knew her - deep down she knew he would see her true feelings.

"Are you ready, Ser Jorah?" she asked, keeping her tone level as she took a step towards the open door.

[For Hannibal] Cloak and Dagger

Daenerys Targaryen sat on the balcony of her villa, basking in the morning sun's warmth with her body bare, wrapped only in a loose white piece of fabric. Really it wasn't much of a cover, it was just a thin piece of cloth that wrapped from behind her, between her breasts and barely resting over her thighs to cover her womanhood.

She was glancing over letters and reports from Egypt. The Pharaoh - a female Pharaoh, at that - had completely submitted to Rome, thus expanding the empire's reach even further still. This wasn't good news.

Daenerys needed a weakened Rome. She needed Caesar's popularity to dwindle. Daenerys turned another page and found a letter reporting from the Germanic countries. The men conquered there had been forced to join the Roman military. Therein she found a weakness, and that made her smile.

She wanted nothing more than to overthrow Caesar and send Rome into chaos. Her family had been royalty; she wanted to reclaim that power and respect that her family had once commanded. The Targaryen name would be feared again, if Daenerys had anything to say about it.

[For Eric] A Step Through Time

After dinner in her time Anne had retired to her room, Eric still shrunk down and nestled between her breasts. Once there she waited patiently, though anxiously, as she waited for him to retrun to normal size and activate the time travel device. As he activated it, Anne clung tight to him, afraid that if she let go she might end up in some worse time than she had started. Her nails pinched into his shoulders a bit as the device transported them.

Then it stopped. After a long moment, gathering her strength and courage, Anne glanced up to view her surroundings. It was a small apartment, very different from the house she was used to - though his bedroom was about the same size as hers. At first she couldn't believe it, was it really true? Was this the future?

The city brought a great deal of noises with which Anne was not familiar; the honking of car horns, the rumble of service trucks and shouts of obscenities from passersby. She glanced up to Eric with wide eyes.

"Did...did it work?"

[For Lockheed] A Day at the Beach

Dejah always enjoyed Jasoom's beaches. The heat and the sand reminded her of Barsoom, while the water took her back to her childhood days dreaming about the Time of Oceans. But being here with Lockheed and the twins made the experience that much more enjoyable.

The babies were still small, while Dejah sat on the blanket in a blue one-piece bathing suit, Dinah was edging curiously towards the edge of the blanket. Curiously she nudged her little front paw against the sand and shied back at the soft, hot feel of it. Dejah chuckled and reached out to run her fingers over Dinah's soft head.

"Was it not what you expected, little love?" she teased softly.