He placed a scarred and sizable hand to his chest in an act of respect followed by a slight bow. He planted the blunt end of his spear into the ground like a flag. “I am called Rafik Dezak. It is a pleasure.” There was a flirtatious brashness to the way he spoke, his eyes still engaged in their prowling dance, his voice a deep and coaxing purr. “Hello.” Now it was the mystic that spoke, her voice like chimes in a spring breeze; calming and soft.
