Sylune put her hands on her hips and gave him a level stare as she gestured, up and down, at herself. "This is your idea of 'dressed,' I take it?"

Torm gave her a sly look from the floor, and rolled up to a sitting position, wincing once. "Well, you hadn't complained before tonight," he said, feigning innocence.

"Yet-as you may just have noticed-I'm doing so now," Sylune told him calmly. Then she snapped, "Take this frippery off me-at once!"

Torm bounded to his feet with an alacrity that belied the severity of his injury. "My pleasure, Lady Sylune!"

"I'll bet," she said dryly. "Try to keep your hands on the buckles and thongs, now, and when you're done, I'll need a neck rub. Hmm-my calves, too. This body is as stiff as old wood!" She struck a pose, pirouetted experimentally, admired herself in the burnished metal looking glass, and rubbed her nose. "You've taken some care with my hair," she said in tones of pleased surprise. "Diligent brushing, at the least. My thanks, Torm."

"Lady," Torm said seriously, reaching out a finger to stroke the silvery fall of her hair, "in all my life I'd never dared touch your hair, or Storm's, but I always wanted to. It's… truly beautiful… like spun silver."

Sylune laughed lightly and laid a hand on his cheek. "Why, thank you, Torm-this, from the maid-chaser of Shadowdale?"

"Lady, I meant it," the thief replied, and bowed. " 'Twas an honor caring for your body." A twinkle crept into his eye. "In fact, if you weren't so many years my senior…"

Sylune glared at him, and gestured again at herself. "You were hard at work removing all this saucy stuff, remember?"

Torm's jaw dropped-and he discovered the fallen garter. Plucking it up from the floor, he offered it to her mutely. Sylune gave him a withering look, so he shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he undid her sash, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around lightly. He stripped her with a speed and expertise that told her he'd done this a time or two before.