She listened to the words of what she assumed was a poem. It was too dense to be a song, not airy enough, but the lines were spoken with purpose in such a way that they intrigued her. It reminded her faintly of her troupe's storyteller, who often quoted poetry, even when not performing. It had set him apart as a bit of an eccentric, but Vixen had always enjoyed the way he could spin words into something beautiful.
Gloria's words, though she didn't entirely understand their significance, held her rapt attention.
Jig. Jig was as good as Vixen in her mind. It gave her meaning. Purpose. In a way, it assigned her a role. She smiled, accepting the moniker gratefully.
I don't have a name.
"What desert kingdom? Was it your home?" Gloria asked.
"It's called Jirnach." She pronounced it yernack, careful to say it correctly. "The people in that region tend to have darker complexions, darker hair, so I'm going to guess that's not home sweet home."
She paused, another flicker of emotion evident in her features. She smiled quickly, continuing. "Legends say that the people of Jirnach were once able to weave magic spells through dancing. They could supposedly gain the favor of the gods or even summon powerful spirits to aid them." Distractedly, she walked two delicate fingers across the bar between them, twirling them and extending one as though they were the legs of a dancer in motion. "Eventually, the dancers began to perform for the wrong reasons. Money, vanity, desire. So the gods took the gift of magic from them."
Her fingers spun one last time before she pressed them flat against the polished wood. The dancer had fallen. "Whether or not that's true, the dancing itself is beautiful. I'm performing this week in the marketplace at noon." She smiled invitingly. "You should stop by if you have time."