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Lin stood silently in the doorway to the stable, heart full of an emotion she did not yet know how to handle. She had run out with a saddlebag she'd forgotton had been stashed under her bed, and heard the whole of Degas' song. Now she watched Degas smoothing Lčođern's pretty hair, and listening to their conversation, unwilling to break the spell by speech. Farahil was in the stall with her mare, and Lin wondered fleetingly if Garstan had spoken to him yet, and what he thought.
But not even the looming threat of that particular conversation could spoil her joy right now, and as Degas straightened up she met his eyes with her own starry ones, as eager as the child to hear his answer.
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