"Eryn Lasgalen!" Eruisto repeated, listening carefully the words as he said them slowly. As a liar and a manipulator, he was as much a wordsmith as any bard or writer. To him, the name sounded like the late afternoon sun on dark green oak leaves, like mystery and romance, but also like the faint remembrance of a sound drifting away on the wind. He licked his lips, as they were dry; why did he suddenly feel a sense of loss?
He looked again at Melisil, who seemed lost in thought. He felt like a small child next to her, young and foolish, not yet accustomed to the ways of the world. He felt like he was shrinking in his seat until his feet could hang, a foot or more above the floor.
Trying to keep his feet from kicking, he turned back to his drink and raised it to his lips, but did not drink. His mind was full of thought, and questions, but none came to him. He simply sat and let Melisil finish her thinking while he indulged in his own.
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"Oh, my god! I care so little, I almost passed out!" --Dr. Cox, "Scrubs"
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