"Three hundred years isn't so long," the bard chuckled ruefully. "That's about the lifespan of an elf on my world. A bit longer than a single Fae's lifetime, here, I think. In the span of the life of a god it must be much less than that. Not a blink of an eye... but you're right enough that it's unlikely that we'll see the end of it, or which choices ended up being the best or worst in hindsight." Perhaps they'd get lucky and it wouldn't really heat up until the next generation or two came along to deal with it.
Not that he'd push the problem off on someone else like that. What kind of meddler would he be if he did?
He winced at hearing that the deafness was a result of divine intervention - and not the good kind, but her chuckle at the young man's attitude brought the crooked grin back. "As Loren might say: teenagers." He'd hope it was just a phase then, for Weaver's sake as much as everyone else's. "But he has musical talent, from what I heard. I'd like to encourage that, when he can hear again." It was hard to fix pitch when you couldn't hear it, after all.
Weaver gave him a chance to extemporize, and he appreciated her all the more for it as he went off on a bit of a solilquoy. Her question when he finally drifted to a halt earned a wink. "The color of light," he replied, before turning his attention to her own list. Landsharks would be right at home here, he suspected, but the information on memory snow had him grinning in delight. The mention of the Tundra and its formerly-nomadic tribes caught him as well, and he tilted his head like a fox scenting a hare, happy to hunt down new information. "What happened to turn this land from grass to eternal snow?" he asked, fascinated by another of Caido's many mysteries.
Not that he'd push the problem off on someone else like that. What kind of meddler would he be if he did?
He winced at hearing that the deafness was a result of divine intervention - and not the good kind, but her chuckle at the young man's attitude brought the crooked grin back. "As Loren might say: teenagers." He'd hope it was just a phase then, for Weaver's sake as much as everyone else's. "But he has musical talent, from what I heard. I'd like to encourage that, when he can hear again." It was hard to fix pitch when you couldn't hear it, after all.
Weaver gave him a chance to extemporize, and he appreciated her all the more for it as he went off on a bit of a solilquoy. Her question when he finally drifted to a halt earned a wink. "The color of light," he replied, before turning his attention to her own list. Landsharks would be right at home here, he suspected, but the information on memory snow had him grinning in delight. The mention of the Tundra and its formerly-nomadic tribes caught him as well, and he tilted his head like a fox scenting a hare, happy to hunt down new information. "What happened to turn this land from grass to eternal snow?" he asked, fascinated by another of Caido's many mysteries.
