From: the Search for Tzanáta, © Wendy Gillissen, 2014
”The walk through the gardens calmed his senses. The meeting had only served to frustrate him further. Most Cáltoi of Tzanáta seemed blind and deaf to the warning signs, even when he outlined them to their faces. He shook his head, his eyes black as pitch, and breathed out in an attempt to release his anger.
It was then that he laid eyes on her again. A white swan, slender and elegant, she drifted across the grass and soothed his senses by her beauty. Stunned, he walked up to her, his hands outstretched as if they possessed a life of their own. He had no idea what he was going to do, what he was going to say. He didn’t even know her name. Tears sprang to his eyes once more. He had never had this reaction to a woman before.
He swallowed as she drifted almost near enough to touch. Her heart-shaped face seemed lit from within like an alabaster lamp. The warm pools of her eyes were shaded by dark lashes, the soft shape of her face accentuated by her gently curved brows, her low cut fringe. Unlike his eyes, which were of a velvet brown so dark they were nearly black, hers were of the deepest, darkest indigo.
‘My lord Riórdirým.’ She bowed her head almost imperceptibly. Her voice was like cool water on a hot summer’s day. He withstood the urge to kneel at her feet. He took her hands instead. His heart raced at the touch of her fingers.
‘Who—who are you?’
She smiled. ‘My name is Ciórdynn.’ ”