DISHA SMILED AS HE RE-SEATED HIMSELF NEXT TO HER ON THE FLOOR PILLOWS “. . . THERE IS SOMETHING I’VE BEEN WANTING TO ASK YOU . . . ABOUT FIRESTARTING . . .”

HER HESITANCE SIGNALED A DESIRE TO ENTER WHAT COULD BE PRIVATE TERRITORY.  BUT WITH A NOD AND A SLOW FLICKER OF HIS EYELIDS, PERMISSION WAS GRANTED.

“I’VE SEEN YOU LIGHT CANDLES ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM WITH HARDLY A GLANCE,” SHE SAID CAREFULLY, “BUT WITH A HEARTH OR A CAMPFIRE . . . WELL, YOU START THEM SO CAREFULLY, WITH SUCH PERSONAL ATTENTION, ALMOST LIKE . . . LIKE . . .” 

“A RITUAL?”  HIS SMILE BECAME WAN.  “YES, PERHAPS, IN A WAY, IT IS.  THOUGH, MOST TIMES, I DO IT UNCONSCIOUSLY.”

CURIOSITY FED HER BOLDNESS.  “WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT, AS EACH FIRE GROWS?”  SHE GENTLY PRESSED.  “YOUR . . . YOUR PARENTS?”

A SADNESS BRIEFLY CROSSED HIS DARK FEATURES, REFLECTED FLAMES BURNING IN HIS EYES AS HE GLANCED AWAY FROM HER FOR A MOMENT.

WHEN HE LOOKED AT HER AGAIN, ALMOST ALL OF HIS PLEASANT SMILE CAME BACK.  “NOT EXACTLY,” HE SAID, “BUT IT IS A CHILDHOOD MEMORY.  I WAS ABOUT FIVE YEARS OLD AT THE TIME . . .”