Garrick’s wife Cindra, the king’s cousin was a handful. Everybody said so. At sixteen she was a lot younger than he, still a girl really and she liked to gossip and tease. Her pranks had gotten her into trouble (and him) on numerous occasions. But by god he loved her. She had stolen his heart so truly with her pouty lower lip and her slightly upturned nose that he loved to kiss the tip of.

Yes, she got him into trouble but she was worth it, he was totally devoted to her. He had been hers from the first moment she walked up to him in Eallair’s castle and tugged his beard telling him he looked like a big red bear. It is true that Cindra chose him too. There was something about such a kind face on such a big strong man. She loved the way he could make her feel so safe by wrapping his strong arms around her tiny waist. And she loved to bury her face in his bushy red mane and kiss the beard that she had once tugged.

She had begged her father to let her marry him. And her father, who could refuse her nothing, had consented to the marriage even though he believed his playful daughter much too young to wed. They had been married a week before the invasion, their happiness cut short by the fall of their city and the death of so many of their loved ones. But Cindra thought she could regain her happiness, as long as she had Garrick.

As they both gazed out on Mhalwae she was glad to have his strong arms around her, because something about the place made her feel like she needed protection.