KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Was it just the light, a trick of the falling snow, or was that really a smile ghosting over the young man's lips? "What respect should be spared for busybodies? Sticking noses in where they don't belong is hardly an admirable trait."
Whatever amusement he felt was short lived, however. The point about healers dragged up memories he'd rather not recall. Of firelight dancing over the face of a sister lying on a sickbed, barely breathing as she hovered between life and death. Another fire, licking crimson tongues at the sky as the body of a brother was consigned to the final rest; he'd been standing alone that day. Listening to condolences, hearing them whisper that they should start preparing for the next pyre; surely the girl wouldn't survive, not with wounds like that.
If Loren had been around back then, would his brother still be alive? Would Weaver have been able to attend the burning even if he wasn't? Did it even matter that the man was here now when it was too late?
Korbin's expression hardened. "He can do whatever he wants as long as he does it away from me. I'm not obliged to be his friend or let him into my life. But apparently he thinks he's entitled to both, and that leaves us at a bit of an impasse." None of this was strictly speaking Jigano's business, but the dragon - or rather the man behind the impassive reptilian face - rather invited to share confidences. It was annoying and alarming once Korbin realized that he was letting his tongue run too freely, and like a Torchline clam he closed himself off again, retreating back into his shell.
"The person who made my lute is dead," he said, more reticent now. "I don't know if anyone else as the skills to do it well." He paused, chewed on whether to say more... but Weaver knew her brother well. He was quite incapable of leaving someone hanging when he could help. Especially when it didn't cost him anything. "There's a young crafter in Snowcloak. Glas Westfall. He is repairing my lute... possibly he knows how to make a new one. I could look it up, place an order for you If that's the case."
Not sure why he offered, it was too late to take back now. The raven clamped his mouth shut, as if to stop himself from spilling anything else.
Whatever amusement he felt was short lived, however. The point about healers dragged up memories he'd rather not recall. Of firelight dancing over the face of a sister lying on a sickbed, barely breathing as she hovered between life and death. Another fire, licking crimson tongues at the sky as the body of a brother was consigned to the final rest; he'd been standing alone that day. Listening to condolences, hearing them whisper that they should start preparing for the next pyre; surely the girl wouldn't survive, not with wounds like that.
If Loren had been around back then, would his brother still be alive? Would Weaver have been able to attend the burning even if he wasn't? Did it even matter that the man was here now when it was too late?
Korbin's expression hardened. "He can do whatever he wants as long as he does it away from me. I'm not obliged to be his friend or let him into my life. But apparently he thinks he's entitled to both, and that leaves us at a bit of an impasse." None of this was strictly speaking Jigano's business, but the dragon - or rather the man behind the impassive reptilian face - rather invited to share confidences. It was annoying and alarming once Korbin realized that he was letting his tongue run too freely, and like a Torchline clam he closed himself off again, retreating back into his shell.
"The person who made my lute is dead," he said, more reticent now. "I don't know if anyone else as the skills to do it well." He paused, chewed on whether to say more... but Weaver knew her brother well. He was quite incapable of leaving someone hanging when he could help. Especially when it didn't cost him anything. "There's a young crafter in Snowcloak. Glas Westfall. He is repairing my lute... possibly he knows how to make a new one. I could look it up, place an order for you If that's the case."
Not sure why he offered, it was too late to take back now. The raven clamped his mouth shut, as if to stop himself from spilling anything else.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
