“Well, a Faerlin matures in stages that are typically marked by both ritual and nature. We grow to our adult physical shape rather quickly, looking fully grown by about one hundred and fifty or so.”
“That’s quickly?” she giggled.
Keinigan nodded at her sarcasm, “Considering we have more than nineteen hundred more years to go, it is. Even then, we are not completely ‘mature,’ to a degree. It would be like a twenty-year-old human with a thirteen-year-old mind. Our minds catch up to our bodies over the next century, so we don’t really have a preoccupation with things of a carnal nature until we are over two hundred years old. That allows young faerlins to arrange an apprenticeship before the heart takes control and we pursue a mate. In the Faerl culture, the time when we actively seek companionship, love, a lifelong mate, or whatever you will, is called Djo’dor a Kaleen, the Loving — or, more aptly known, Mating Agen. Nature puts our bodies on high alert so that we… ensure the survival of the species, shall we say?” He winked at her with a gleam in his green eye. “Although,” he chuckled ruefully, “sometimes it is damned inconvenient.”
Lylith mused on that thought and asked, “How long does it last?”
“I get this lovely little urge for the next two to three hundred years.”
“Are you joking?” she asked, her jaw agape.
“Having lived among humans for so long, I’ve heard many old tales of maidens being enchanted or abducted by fae men during the Kalean festivals. Disappearing for years simply to be rediscovered wondering the roads beyond the Fae Woods in torn clothes and their hearts broken by their lost lovers. Knowing how uncontrolled I feel at times, I can only imagine what the true tales were that got told by those women.”
Lylith smiled slyly at him. “So, unless I’m ready to make a true physical commitment, I should stay clear of your ears?”
He glanced down at his body and added, “Among other parts.”
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