The dogs, as always, heralded Lanoch's approach, his own little entourage, as if he were someone who mattered in this world. Well, at least he mattered to them, and that was pretty good, right? Wessex was lucky the glassblower had to get up early to tend to them, or he might have been pissed. As it was the lad was mildly irked, his arms crossed tight against his chest as he walked up to the woman. "Oi, Blue, heel. She won't bite ya."
It was clear from his expression that he did not entirely believe this to be true.
"You got it, then?"
No pleasantries. It was too damn early for that, and besides, they weren't really on small talk terms. More like give-me-my-shit-and-get-off-my-lawn terms.
It was clear from his expression that he did not entirely believe this to be true.
"You got it, then?"
