HIGH

Gradually, the rest of the person appears, until she heaves herself up and over and sprawls on the ground, breathing a little heavily and clearly pleased with herself. She's short, blonde, and grey-eyed, and dressed in hiking boots, shorts, and a Rolling Stones concert tee that's at least a size too large.

It takes a minute or two for her to do anything further; she savors the moment, takes a healthy swig of water from the canteen she had tied to her belt loops, and savors the triumph a little more. She looks around, admiring moonlight on treetops and - eventually - registers fire and sounds that don't belong to the night.

She caps her canteen, rolls up to her feet, and begins making her way towards the music.

The large campfire was in a sheltered ravine between the rocky hill Kaylana found herself traversing down and another, taller hill dotted with trees on its grassy slope. A small waterfall sprang from the rock face and fed into a wide basin that in turn fed into a spring that disappeared into the trees. A few yards away from the gathering, the horses of Rangers grazed and drank, their saddles and tack lined up nearby. Tents were scattered about the area. One horse stood apart from the others, his pale gold mane glittered in the moonlight and reflected firelight glimmered over his ebony coat. He looked every inch a sentry. His ears swiveled at the faint sound of a skittering rock only he heard over the sounds of laughter and song and dark eyes watched Kaylana's progress.

On a table near the fire the remains of a substantial feast lay: fruits and bread and cheese, jacket potatoes and slabs of venison. Open bottles of various liquors gave away that this party had been going on for a while.

Around the fire, there was a patrol of Arden's Rangers, out of uniform and obviously off duty. Among them was a dark haired woman in jeans, plain black t-shirt and a black cowboy hat. Strapped to her upper right thigh was a jewel encrusted dagger. It almost looked ceremonial except that she wore it like one would an oft used blade. She strummed idly on a guitar of deep red wood while one of the Rangers's fingers grazed lightly over the head of a Celtic drum. The smell of spices, and tobacco and the sweet musty scent of another burning herb perfumed the evening air.

Kaylana tucked her hands into her pockets and continued on her way towards the group; a close observer might have noticed her path deviating as needed to stay more than 10 feet away from any horse that in her path.

When she reached a comfortably polite distance - not too close to the people around the fire, but not so far that she had to particularly raise her voice - she called, "Hello the campfire!"

Several heads turn her way and the woman among them looks up slowly from her fretboard. "You guys are a sad bunch of guards," she teases.

Much good natured grumbling follows and the woman turns to look over at the visitor's direction. "C'mon over and pull up a log. Help yerself to the grub."

"I ate before I headed out this way, but thanks. Now, if you've got something cool to drink, I might take you up on that," Kaylana says, smiling as she enters the firelight. Instead of sitting on a log, she settles crosslegged next to one, her back against the wood. "I was doing a little climbing," she explains, with a gesture back towards the cliff, "and I heard your little party here. My name's Kaylana."

"Well, welcome to our little shindig. This here's Godric (a good natured honey haired man, mid -thirties, hazel eyes), Sal ( early thirties, average height, slender, black hair, green eyes, rather dashing with the dueling scar that runs pale over his right cheekbone), Regulus (tall, swimmer's build, black hair, blue eyes, a handsome man, mid- twenties), Bill (red hair in a ponytail, brown eyes, average build, pleasantly average looks), Harold (early twenties, dark brown hair and green eyes, on the short side, slim) and Fabian (a startling beautiful young man, no older than 18 with pale blonde hair and gray eyes, average height, slender)," the woman says as she sets her guitar in the hands of Regulus. "I'm Rebecca," she continues while rising to her feet.

She looks down now at the sitting female appraisingly. "I think I've seen ya before. At the castle." The Rangers don't seem at all fussed by this and Regulus fingers the guitar softly while leaning over to speak with Godric who is still tapping his fingers over the painted drum.

"We got beer, wine, water or somethin' stronger," Rebecca offers. "What should be cold, is. What'll ya have?"

Kaylana returns the appraising look. "Yeah, Dad mentioned someone who meets your description. At least, I remember him mentioning the hat." She grins. "Beer to start with, I think, although I'm game to try most anything." Her eyes stray over to the guitar, and she adds, "Any particular reason for the celebration, if you don't mind my asking?"

"End of their patrol," Rebecca answers over her shoulder as she heads for the pool. Once there, she bends down and pulls a rope to her. Along its length from under the water she unties two bottles, drops the rest back and saunters back over.

"The patrols usually last around two weeks," she explains as she hands Kaylana a bottle dripping in cold moisture. "It twists off," she adds with a nod at the bottle top. "These guys have been on it for 18 days. We met the new group here earlier and they handed off the responsibility. This is how they relax and it reminds me of nights on the range so I drop in a lot."

Rebecca opens her own bottle and tosses the lid in the fire. "What're ya doin' out this far inta Arden at night?"

"Oh," Kaylana says easily, twisting the top off her bottle and setting it beside her, "I thought I'd do a little moonlight climbing, and that," she takes a drink and gestures with the other hand in the direction from which she'd come, "is one of the better faces I've found so far. I haven't quite got the hang of this forest yet, so I'm not sure coming out at night was the *best* idea I've ever had," she grins faintly, "but I figured Dad would send someone out looking for me if I didn't show up for lunch."

Rebecca drops back down on her log and takes a swig of beer. "Not the safest place to be at night. If it was, wouldn't be much need for patrols 'round the clock." She's obviously been at this awhile. Her drawl is heavier than usual (though I don't want to write it too heavy). "Damn hounds of Julian's included."

Godric chuckles from the other side of the fire. "He might hear you."

Rebecca waves a hand in the air dismissively. "Don't care. He already knows I don't mind the beasts. Except for the names on somuv 'em. Who the hell names a dog the size of a small pony Buddy? He musta been drinkin' that night."

"I can do all right for myself," Kaylana says with a shrug. "I'm not completely hopeless out here, anyway." She takes another pull of her beer. "Can't hold a candle to all of you, of course; I know cities a lot better. Among other things." Her eyes strayed towards the guitar again.

"Oh, I'm sure ya can," Rebecca shrugs. "Though even yur Dad gets nervous around those hounds."

One of the guys hands over a long necked pipe to Rebecca. Made of bone carved to resemble a stylized eagle, it has the soft gleam of use and age. Two eagle feathers are tied to the stem of the pipe by beaded leather thongs.

Rebecca looks over at Kaylana before taking a hit from it though. "You play, I take it?"

"Heh," Kaylana says wryly. "I'm being obvious about it, I guess?" She shrugs easily. "You could say I play. You could also say I live and breathe music, and you might be a little closer."

"See the tent with the red n' black banner with the silver wolf on it? There's another guitar in there if ya want to play it. I always bring two, since it's easier for me to fetch 'em then it is for Reg to haul one around."

Kaylana gives a short nod and rises, beer still in hand. She unhurriedly makes her way across to the indicated tent and disappears inside.

She reemerges a few moments later, the guitar cradled in one hand and the beer bottle crammed awkwardly into one of her front pockets, and returns to her seat.

The instrument in her hands is older, more care worn than the red one. It has clearly seen many miles of travel and years of use. Hanging from the headstock of the six string is a leather thong holding a red feather and a wolf fang. On closer inspection a delicately painted running silver wolf adorns the feather. The pickguard has mother of pearl inlaid slash marks, like the ones a wolf or coyote would make.

Rebecca has handed off the pipe and moved to sit beside Godric where she appears to be learning the fine art of playing the bodhran. Regulus is worrying over the red 12-string, picking out something that sounds vaguely Spanish. The others are laughing or talking amongst themselves while passing around the pipe.

Kaylana settles herself on top of the log this time, pulling the bottle out to finish it off only once she has the guitar safely on the ground. Then she checks the tuning, one string at a time; she's deft and quick at it, in a way that suggests it's just what she does when she picks up a guitar. She starts building a tune around what Regulus is playing, using complex riffs and themes to support him. "So whose is the silver wolf?" she asks, looking at Rebecca.

It is Harlod that answers from directly across from her, as Rebecca seems to be trying to master the art of playing the drum with the double headed striker. "Rebecca's. Be careful with that. That's the one her father gave her."

"I treat every guitar with the respect it deserves," Kaylana answers, and there's a quiet edge of steel to her tone. She doesn't seem to be exactly offended, only a little irritated, and after a heartbeat, she smiles very slightly. "My own Siddhartha doesn't have a scratch or a ding, and he's been through 10 years and several thousand miles with me - and now from home to Amber and back a few times."

Harold shrugs and turns his attentions elsewhere to find Rebecca's dark eyes watching them.

"What he's not sayin'," she says a she stands and tosses another log into the fire. "Is that I've had that since I was eight, even though it was almost as big as me. That it and my horse were my only companions for many a night ridin' hundreds of miles for fence line for more years then I like to recall nowdays. Dad taught me how to play on that one and it's been in my bed more'n any man." She just grins at the resulting catcalls at that last bit. "I've serenaded many a wolf and coyote, the moon, and a few native hunting parties under the biggest star filled sky anywhere with that'un, and not always on purpose."

Rebecca tosses her now empty bottle into a sturdy looking crate where it lands with the sound of shattering glass and applause all around, like it was a game of theirs. "And if'n I'da had in my hands at the time, I prob'ly woulda smacked Corwin upside the head with it when he showed up instead of shootin' him."

Sal laughs. "I still can't believe you shot the man in the shoulder on sight."

Rebecca shrugs and accepts another bottle from Fabian that he hands off as he walks back to his seat. "I told ya he acted like he expected somethin' like that. Reckon he figur'd -and rightly so- that Dad already told me there was no love lost betw'n 'em. Irritated the hell outta me that I didn't 'ven get a 'what the hell?' for my efforts." She looks mildly gratified when Harold snorts in amusement into his beer.

She comes over and flops down in the grass near the guitar players now that any previous tension in the younger Ranger has been alleviated. "Reg here's only been playin' a coupla years. I figure you've got a wider range o' exposure than either o' us. What do ya like to play the most?"

Kaylana laughs. "That depends entirely on my mood. For quiet times and quiet moods, I tend towards - this, actually." She glances down at her fingers, which are still picking out intricate Spanish-sounding themes. "Occasionally, I'll get in the mood for a little country - the new stuff, not the twangy old guys. For nostalgia - well," she shakes her head, "that's a mishmash of things from places and people I was around when Dad came to visit. For fun and profit, though, I always come back to rock. Classic or modern - doesn't matter. Hell, every once in a while I write my own." She smiles a little wryly. "Just the music, though; I'm terrible at lyrics."

Rebecca grins. "Dad said I had a voice for smoky torch songs, but not much else. Took me years to find out what the hell a smoky torchy song even was."

"Hey, Reg. Play that flamenco music you were working's on all month."

The Ranger bows slightly in her direction and sits back up a moment before bending over the strings. His fingers dance lightly over the steel and gut strings, coaxing out a ruffled measure. He looks over at Kyalana through the curtain of his midnight black hair.

"Play with me."

Kaylana stills the strings with a gentle touch just as the Ranger begins to play - and she listens. And then, casually, she plays the same measure back, with a quick scowl at the single note she misses in the middle. Then she smiles. "Lead. I'll follow."

His fingers dance in a practiced pattern across the 12 strings, building in tempo and passion, a slow staccato rhythm rising into flourishes and heart pounding desire call out from the strings in the familiar patterns of the Spanish dance. Godric's drum provides a heartbeat underscoring that rises and swells with the guitar. There are no castanets, but the rhythmic clapping of several of the others act in their stead.

Kaylana begins to play just after the first note, and the notes she plays wind around and above and below the melody. Sometimes she meets it for a note or two; sometimes she plays the counterpoint and sometimes a harmony. She's bent over the guitar with an intent, intense expression on her face, eyes on her flying fingers, and as the music pulses on towards the end, she smiles a little.

The last note she plays is a chord that she lets hang in the air under the last half-measure of the Ranger's melody; she looks up on the last note, smiling, to meet his eyes and nod respectfully. "Wonderful."

"I may have been inspired," Reg grins while their audience applauds and shouts their approval. Rebecca is there with fresh drinks and a wide smile for them.

"That was amazing! And very, very sexy."

Kaylana's smile widens to a grin, and she winks casually at Reg. "Don't underestimate yourself."

She accepts the fresh drink with a, "thanks," and sets aside the guitar. After fishing in her pockets for a moment, she finally produces a cigarette that looks like it's been - well, in her pockets - and a matchbook that is even more battered. She lights up before tackling the drink. "Got anything else?" she asks hopefully. "That was fun."

"Well,..." he says with a sudden attack of shyness. Rebecca snorts.

"He knows quite a lot of Amber's folk songs and popular ballads and a huge amount of bawdy songs," Rebecca offers with a grin.

"Aye. You taught 'em to him!" one of the others from the far side of the fire yells.

Regulus chuckles. "I have learned some ... Beethoven? Yes, that's his name. Chopin too. Brillant man. His Highness is fond of many of Earth's Classical composers and I have picked up a lot from listening to his music."

Kaylana chuckles. "One of my teachers was *very* fond of the classics - and at the time, I wasn't." She shrugs ruefully. "I was all of eight or nine then. I can't promise that I'm anything but rusty, but I'm game to give it a shot."

She sweeps the guitar back into her lap with one hand and winks. "Of course, there's always..." She plays a snatch of one of the bawdier songs currently popular.

WHich earns her a round of hoots and laughter from the boys and a face-splitting grin from her partner as he picks up the counterpoint of the tune.

Kaylana grins right back. "Somebody else sing," she says cheerfully. "I'm not good enough to smoke, play, *and* sing quite yet." Her grin turns mischievous. "How about you, Rebecca?"

Godric gets a mischevious look and stands. "I have a request!"

"Aye, I'll bet you do!" Came a voice from the dark.

Godric just smirks and looks at Rebecca. "Gilda and the Dragon."

"Oi!" Rebecca protests, but for naught since she climbs to her feet and lively folk music starts from the other end of the fire, giving Reg a break. Rebecca's voice is by no means professional, but it's a playful alto that can carry a tune and does so with gusto for this one, leering playful in all the right places.

Sir Loren undertook a quest, the maiden Gilda seeking.
He found her in a dragon's bed, from 'neath the covers peeking.
"What seek you here, Sir Loren dear?" the dragon asked with guile.
The noble knight could not but note the dragon's sated smile.

"Why smilest thou, Lord Dragon, sir?" asked our hero in armor laden?
"Why, you'd smile too," the worm replied, "if you'd just eaten a maiden."

"Such candor," this young lordling cried, "must touch upon dishonor!"
The dragon grinned his lecherous grin and once more was upon her.
"Cease and desist!" Sir Loren cried, his fine steel blade a-flashin'.
"Oh, slay him not!" young Gilda cried, her voice a play of passion.
"Was ever a maid so tried as I betwixt desire and honor?
I should demand you slay the beast, but he stirs in me such ardor!"

"Fie, fie!" Sir Loren cried to her. "What foolishness is this?
Would you deny you lord and land all for a dragon's kiss?"
Intently he did search her face, then frowned in deep dismay
As she shed a tear for honor's sake, and sent him on his way.

"Why smilest thou, Lord Dragon, sir?" asked our hero in armor laden?
"Why, you'd smile too," the worm replied, "if you'd just eaten a maiden."

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