This takes place a while before "Precious." Thanks loads to BlueLion, mangagirl64, and even Honest to Pain for reviewing ;). It means a lot to hear feedback, both good and bad. I'm not an expert on Arabian culture, so I kinda made it up as I went along. Hopefully I don't offend anyone in the process haha.

Token

"You can open it now," he told her, lounging elegantly against the doorframe. "It requires some… explanation."

Bemused, Kel looked intently at the brown parcel in her hands. Whatever was inside was very light and flexible, almost like a fabric of some sort. But why would Qasim be giving her clothes for Midwinter? "All right," she said, going to the desk for a penknife. "You can sit down, if you like," she added, throwing a smile his way. She turned back to the twine knots, and missed the tender way he smiled in return.

"If you insist," he said quietly, moving to occupy the spare chair with all the grace of a desert lion. He sat smoothly, pulling a handful of cherries from his belt pouch as he did so. The three sparrows in her office flew to him immediately, peeping their thanks.

Meanwhile, ever conscious of his dark eyes on her, Kel slit the twine and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. What spilled out onto the desk took her breath away. It was russet-red and silky, but with the fine near-transparence of gauze or crepe. Interwoven with the deep crimson were curling strands of golden brown and a rich, bright blue that twisted and flared unexpectedly amidst the warmer colors. Spreading it out carefully, afraid of snagging it on her rough callouses, Kel saw that it was a long rectangle of fabric, fringed at both ends. Although large, it was too small to be a burnoose. The design was very intricate, almost knot-like in its formation, with the blue and brown forming each twist and loop as if they were dancing. The material itself shimmered in the lantern-light; whenever Kel moved, the pattern seemed to move in response.

"Qasim, it's… it's incredible," she breathed, stroking it gingerly. "But… what is it?"

He laughed softly. "It is called a keffiyeh – a decorative veil. It can be worn by men or women, though women tend to wear it across the lower half of the face, while men use it as a turban." He stood, ever catlike, and took both ends carefully, letting it fall over her head. With practiced movements, he wove the ends together to that it rested on her hair and draped down to wrap around her shoulders. One end he lifted to rest across the bridge of her nose.

"I still don't understand," she murmured, watching him work. When one dark hand brushed her cheek inadvertently, she was surprised at the spiral of warmth that it produced.

His dark eyes met hers over the veil. "Among the Bazhir, the gift of a keffiyeh can have several different meanings depending on the design. Between friends, it is an acknowledgement of compatibility and mutual understanding. A mother and father may give their child their first keffiyeh as a sign of the child's nearness to adulthood, and their acceptance of the child in their tent as a full member of the tribe." He paused, fingers still poised lightly against the fabric. "Or, a man may bestow a keffiyeh upon a woman he respects and… admires greatly."

Kel licked her suddenly dry lips, thankful for the concealing fabric across her face. He was standing very close, but somehow it was not enough; she wanted to be even closer, within the circle of him arms.

His hands lowered to cup her face. "You have such expressive eyes," he said, voice low and intimate. "Even your Yamani mask cannot hide it."

She blushed at that, but reached up to pull the keffiyeh down regardless. "It is polite to show your emotions only in your eyes, if at all." When had her voice become a whisper? "Perhaps it is much the same with the Bazhir."

Qasim's lips turned up in a smile. "Not always." One fingertip traced the outline of her mouth, sending shivers down her spine. "You should smile more often. It suits you."

She smiled under his touch, and did not try to contain it. "Running a refugee fort can be stressful sometimes." Kel bit off her next words, looking away. "I'm sorry. I haven't given you a chance to explain what the pattern on my scarf is."

A wide grin creased his dark face, setting her heart to racing. "It is the pattern of a hopeful lover, unrequited but moving toward mutual affection." His thumbs traced her cheeks, and where he touched, she burned.

"But what if it's not unrequited anymore?" she wanted to know.

"Ah." One eyebrow arched. "Then you must wear it with that end tucked in, showing that you've acknowledged the giver's regard."

Her eyes gleamed above the veil. "Show me."