The awkward lilt of conversation echoed along the hall, and he scoffed, snorted, and fought hard not to roll his eyes. Spite and pettiness might have dictated he not do anything for her at all, and wouldn’t that be an amusing sight to see, as Wessex was refused something she required? Find someone else he could say, knowing and understanding well that there were hardly around with his skills, especially not likely for anything she actually needed. He could always fold his arms and watch her glower, sputter, and growl.
Except there were things he also needed. He stewed there for a minute more, letting her simmer and froth at the seams, while he deliberated. Lanoch had wanted to try staining and coloring glass for some time now, but hadn’t had the gall to march into the Greatwood, where rumors swirled of red lichen, of its potential for sinking into his materials and leaving them just so. He thought about grumbling and not saying anything, but it was an opportunity he might not have – obligation for obligation, price for a price. “I need some red lichen, from the Greatwood. I heard it can stain glass.” He tilted his head, studied her, gave nothing over to the you’ve grown sentiments; because they all grew, in one way or another, time ensured that. This was business, not the bristling past. “Bring me some and I can make your items.”
