Demy

The man nods, before he wordlesslu gestures for his daughter to leave. Demy remains kneeling at your feet, the damp cloth remains in the basin. She looks up at you. "Thank you," she whispers, "For choosing me. My daughter, Tunde... her heart has been captured by a boy from the village two days away. While she understands our ways and would have submitted to the tradition out of duty, it is a far greater mercy to let her first experience be with the one she loves. You have spares her feelings and dignity tonight, traveler."

She rises to her feet, closing her distance. "In turn," she continues, her gaze roaming over your body, "I find myself more than willing to fulfill the debt. It has been many seasons since a man of your vigor has crossed this land. There is much fun to be had between us before the sun dares to peek over the horizon."

She steps closer, the hem of her skirts brushing against your boots. "The garden is fertile," she murmurs."Perhaps it is ready for the seeding by another man. Would you like to to do it... If you're up to the task?" Demy asks coyly.