"This bit's much easier when you're standing up and-er, with us," he commented. "Oh, by the way…the stone that lets you occupy this body is implanted here." He touched the inside of her left arm, just above the elbow. Sylune probed cautiously, and thought she felt the magic stone deep within, alongside the bone.

"Mystra bless you and keep you, Old Mage," she breathed, "wherever she is."

"What about prayers for me?" Torm asked teasingly, fingers busy undoing the black silk choker he'd put around her throat earlier.

"You'll be needing more than I feel capable of giving," she replied with a chuckle. Then the Witch of Shadowdale reached out, caught hold of his chin, and kissed him firmly, darting her tongue into his mouth.

When she released him, Torm was smiling a little dazedly. "What was that for?" he asked in pleased tones.

She put her arms around him, smelly undersuit and all. "Torm, you rogue," she said feelingly, "do you know how long it's been since I've held someone? Kissed anyone? Tasted anything? Even your mouth is preferable to nothing at all!"

"Hey!" Torm said in aggrieved tones. "What's wrong with the taste of my mouth?"

"Nothing," she said tartly, spinning away from him, "except that it's the only taste you've got." She sat down on a chair. "Now, about that neck rub."

"If my taste is so bad," Torm said, delving hurriedly into a wardrobe, "how is it that you're in my bedchamber, out of a dozen more in this place? Hey?"

"That can be remedied," she said, rising.

Torm caught her wrist and sat her back down. "You're not going out into the hall like that!"

"Why not?" She gave him a deadly look. "After what I've heard about what you've been doing to this body before I got here, it could hardly damage my reputation-or yours-any further! Has Ulistyl heard about this?"