Amun’s lack of empathy for the dead was a palpable weight in the air, and the bard frowned as he glanced over to one of the shielded windows. Beyond them, outside in the dark, creatures prowled who had already burned one building to the ground. ”Because celebrating right now could get more people killed,” he pointed out, frowning slightly at the little man. Given that their last sheltering building had just burned down, any lovers caught distracted in the act would have been killed along with the monster infestation. Given that the Rathskeller had apparently burned in a similar manner the Temple was far from impregnable from a repeat of that act.
Aonghas’s kindness was a stark contrast to Amun’s callousness, and the frown lifted as he offered the blond a gracious nod of acknowledgment. ”Thank you,” he murmured, both to the expression he understood and to the strange language that sounded like some sort of benediction.
Talk of Fiat Lux was a welcome distraction of a lighter note, though Amun’s insistence on nicknames was an unexpectedly immature habit in one who looked old enough to past such childishness. Jigano simply ignored the jab, nodding slightly. ”Indeed. Last year I provided some of the music, and likely will again.” If Amun thought that the bard was broody, he’d be in for a shock when he met Rory prowling the lanes of the festival. Aonghas’s thanks were welcome, and Jigano found a flicker of a crooked smile for the slender man. ”That’s certainly one of the reasons for it. The rest of the year – Flowerbirth, Longheat, and Leafchange – have their traditions and festivals and things to look forward to. There is little time for celebration in Deepfrost, though, when everyone is making preparations that can be the difference between life and death.”
He might have mentioned the magna vermis or the plants with teeth, but some things were better seen – or tasted – than merely described. Instead, since they’d asked no further questions about the spring festival, he tilted his head at Amun in invitation. ”Now, what is it about the Greatwood that you want to know?”
Aonghas’s kindness was a stark contrast to Amun’s callousness, and the frown lifted as he offered the blond a gracious nod of acknowledgment. ”Thank you,” he murmured, both to the expression he understood and to the strange language that sounded like some sort of benediction.
Talk of Fiat Lux was a welcome distraction of a lighter note, though Amun’s insistence on nicknames was an unexpectedly immature habit in one who looked old enough to past such childishness. Jigano simply ignored the jab, nodding slightly. ”Indeed. Last year I provided some of the music, and likely will again.” If Amun thought that the bard was broody, he’d be in for a shock when he met Rory prowling the lanes of the festival. Aonghas’s thanks were welcome, and Jigano found a flicker of a crooked smile for the slender man. ”That’s certainly one of the reasons for it. The rest of the year – Flowerbirth, Longheat, and Leafchange – have their traditions and festivals and things to look forward to. There is little time for celebration in Deepfrost, though, when everyone is making preparations that can be the difference between life and death.”
He might have mentioned the magna vermis or the plants with teeth, but some things were better seen – or tasted – than merely described. Instead, since they’d asked no further questions about the spring festival, he tilted his head at Amun in invitation. ”Now, what is it about the Greatwood that you want to know?”
