His knife retrieved, he set it on the side of the canal and held out a hand for the shell again. In the Longheat temperatures its current chill was a comfortable coolness against sun-warmed skin. "Some use tools. It's foot can be sharp," he murmured, melting the ice with another touch of magic and letting the water run out of the shell. The conch appeared as he tilted it, a mussel shell-like protrusion dangling from the opening and he grasped it between two callused fingers and pulled with a slow, steady flex of bunched muscles.
"Mmn." His comment was a simple acknowledgment that she was an outlander, but her mention of the heralds had him tilting his head as the conch came free and slid into his hand - a ropy, floppy looking creature, like an oversized mollusc.
"I follow Safrin. She is Torchline's patron," he explained as he set the shell aside and picked up his knife. "Here-- and here-- the dark colored flesh is good for bait, but not eating." As he spoke he sliced away the portions he indicated, working with swift, deft fingers to reveal the large hunk of firm, white meat within. "She would hear you, I think."
"Mmn." His comment was a simple acknowledgment that she was an outlander, but her mention of the heralds had him tilting his head as the conch came free and slid into his hand - a ropy, floppy looking creature, like an oversized mollusc.
"I follow Safrin. She is Torchline's patron," he explained as he set the shell aside and picked up his knife. "Here-- and here-- the dark colored flesh is good for bait, but not eating." As he spoke he sliced away the portions he indicated, working with swift, deft fingers to reveal the large hunk of firm, white meat within. "She would hear you, I think."
