
Nathan stilled the lute strings at the *thunk*, and pushed up the brim of his hat, catching the full glimpse of the familiar feminine figure, with all the implications that the word carried. One brow arched, but the trademark fox-grin disarmed it.
"I'd never prevent you from taking any space you wished, my dear Clio."
He pushed the second flagon of Momodi's ale towards her. "It's my custom to keep an extra drink handy in case of, and especially for, unexpected company. I assure you, it is one hundred percent free of pumpkin or any related gourd-based ingredients."
"I'd never prevent you from taking any space you wished, my dear Clio."
He pushed the second flagon of Momodi's ale towards her. "It's my custom to keep an extra drink handy in case of, and especially for, unexpected company. I assure you, it is one hundred percent free of pumpkin or any related gourd-based ingredients."
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
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