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Mak finally closed his mouth. Slowly collected his scattered wits. Pointedly ignored several amused glances thrown his way."Not the kind of dancing you're familiar with?" Nurm cocked an eyebrow at him. Mak shook his head, still mute, and Nurm changed the subject. "How have the harvests been, the last few years?" The same as usual," he answered evasively, shaking his head as though waking from a dream. "Everything's just the same as usual. Nothing ever changes in Wallen village. Nothing!"It was considerably later when he got to his feet. The fires were dying away to beds of glowing coals, and downing his sixth, or was it his seventh mug of brew he took his leave of the traders and wended his slightly uncertain way back to the village. He slipped quietly around to the rear side of the palisade, climbed a leaning tree, and dropped lightly to the ground on the other side. He was about to go into his parent's cottage when a low whistle caught his attention."Mak! Oh, Mak! Over here." A. I didn’t favour him with a reply; I was too distracted to engage in any lengthy small talk. I raised the glass to my lips and let the cool, amber liquid slide down my throat. After another few swallows I began to feel the soporific effect of the alcohol. I felt a buzz as I reclined against the bar, draining the last few dregs from the glass. Then I heard him. “Fancy meeting you here, Mr Robinson.” His deep husky voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He sat down next to me, placing his own pint on the counter. I gazed at all 6’2 of him; he was wearing a tight t-shirt similar to our previous encounter. The muscles of his chest stood out as the material clung to him. My eyes moved up his body to his face, a smirk played upon his mouth, his full kissable lips taunting me. “I do hope you enjoyed our last encounter, it was a very hard lesson.” He chuckled to himself. “I-I don’t k-know...” I managed to stammer out, sounding like a love struck teenager. “I’m not.
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