She preferred the joyous wedding they had celebrated among people bonded to them in their hearts, over one of cold pageant.Īmong the Mud People, who led hard lives on the plain of the wilds, such a celebration was a rare opportunity to gather in merriment, to feast, to dance, and to tell stories.

These guileless people understood their sincerity and simple reasons for wanting to be married. Had they been wedded in any of the great cities of the Midlands, the event undoubtedly would have been a pageant of unparalleled splendor. Though it had been for love and love alone, their wedding was also a formal joining of the Midlands and D'Hara. And now they had at last spent their wedding night in the spirit house of the Mud People. On another visit, it was here in the spirit house, after Richard accomplished the impossible and broke the spell of prohibition, that he had asked her to be his wife. It was during that visit, after battle, struggle, and sacrifice, that they had been accepted into the community of these remote people. It had been here in the Mud People's spirit house, on a night that now seemed lifetimes ago, that she had first realized she was hopelessly in love with him, but had to keep her forbidden feelings secret. She slid her hands across the sweat-slick muscles of his broad shoulders to run her fingers through the thick tangle of his hair as she moaned against his mouth. His breathing quickened as he clutched her in his powerful arms. She urged him from the tava bread for a long kiss. So many times she had prayed to the good spirits that he would be able to laugh again- that they both would.

'We really are married, aren't we? It wasn't just a dream, was it?' Richard's contented laugh brought a smile to her lips. 'Bored with your new wife so soon, Lord Rahl?' Richard stretched to the side and retrieved a round, flat piece of tava bread from the platter Zedd, his grandfather, had brought them. Paddles scraped up and down ridges carved on the hollow, bell-shaped boldas produced an eerie, haunting melody that seeped through the solitude of the spirit house on its way out onto the grasslands, welcoming spirit ancestors to the celebration. Kahlan watched the firelight reflecting in his gray eyes a moment before lying back in his arms to sway gently to the sounds of the drums and the boldas. The scent of the balsam sticks that were always burned in the spirit-house hearth mingled with the tang of sweat earned in passion, and the spicy-sweet aroma of roasted peppers and onions. She told him as much.įaint sounds of distant laughter, conversation, and singing drifted into their quiet sanctuary. No doubt the village children, still reveling in the wedding celebration, had been chasing the chickens from a favorite roost on the squat wall outside the spirit house. The brief squawking on the other side of the door had ceased. 'Or maybe they're grouchy because we kept them awake most of the night.' 'Maybe your grandfather is pestering them now, too.' When he didn't reply, she tilted her head back to squint up at him in the dim firelight. Kahlan nuzzled tighter against his shoulder. 'I wonder what’s bothering the chickens,' Richard said.

Troga sword of truth