“Hullo,” Nat said as he bumped the door closed with his hip. 

He was carrying a large bowl and Wren couldn’t quite identify the scent.  Forgetting, he dropped onto the couch a little too hard and bounced Wren a foot off the cushion.  Her control was superb.  Without effort she equalize gravity then allowed her body to settle slowly back into the couch.

“What are we watching?” he asked.

“I am watching ballet,” she replied.  “You should be watching that whatever is in the bowl doesn’t end up on the couch.”

“Ballet, huh?”

For a moment he studied the action on the TV then slowly turned to look over at Wren as if she was growing a new head.

“Umm . . .” he began.  “Is there a story here?”

“Yes,” Wren replied, not taking her eyes from the screen.

Nat smiled weakly.  “And what is it?”

“You honestly do not know the story of Giselle?”  She was still concentrating on the dance.

“Giselle?”

“Yes . . .” she began patiently.  “About a girl who falls in love with the prince who is disguised as a commoner.”

Nat shifted forward to the edge of the couch, watching the dancers closely.

“Which one's he?”  He absently ate the contents of the bowl without really tasting it.

“The one in the brown over tunic.  Hillarion, the one in green, is his rival.”

“Rival?”  Nat glanced at her as he spoke.  “How's he a rival?  He a commoner too?  Or another prince?”

“He is a commoner, in love with Giselle,” she said.

“How come the prince is playing commoner?” he asked then stopped.  “Or should I shut up and watch?”

Wren’s half smile and soft words eased his mind about bothering her.

“He is betrothed to someone else and can only get to know Giselle while pretending to be someone else.”

“This isn’t gonna be like opera and everybody ends up dead, right?”  He said then gasped as the ballerina made an impossible leap.  “I've seen you do that.”  The fork and bowl were forgotten as he watched the dance.  “Wow . . . and without super powers . . ." he whispered.

Wren glanced at him, smiling at the enrapt look on his face.

“They're very talented, yes,” she agreed.

“Wow . . . that looks like fun,” Nat said.  “How can they move like that?”

“A lot of practice and even more bruises,” she told him.

“How long have you been dancing?” He turned his attention wholly to her.

“Long as I can remember.”