|
What a strange man, Gjeelea thought as the Priest greeted her. She had seen Tarkan on many occasions though rarely did the princess address him directly or have proper conversation with him. His awkwardly flustered and feminine facial features made a funny combination, Gjeelea decided.
“Is this a bad time, Priest?” the princess asked, looking at the wheelbarrow full of odds and ends. She looked up to the red-cheeked Priest. “If you are busy I could come at another time.”
Catching Tarkan’s flickering gaze, Gjeelea peered at the man. He truly was an eerily strange man – the princess did not know a thinner man, or a taller one. Tarkan’s greasy black hair, matched with his pale skin, gave him the look of a dying man.
“Oh, no…no, of course not, princess,” Tarkan sought to control his faltering voice. “I can always spare a moment. What is it you need?”
“I had hoped, Priest, to learn your feelings on the Emissary,” Gjeelea began. “My brother and I have a difficult decision to make, and I seek not just to please our own desires in the matter but to reach a decision that works for everyone.”
|