As he worked the stiff rawhide into the water Jigano launched into song, and Rory very promptly decided one thing: music was magic. It did not require spells or rituals, but it was magic all the same. The way the notes from the harp wove together with Jigano's voice, the way it touched his soul.. a small shiver passed through him, not from an urge to get up and dance, but from a sense of confusion and bewilderment: what had he done to end up sitting next to a man who was both beautiful and talented?
He shook his head slightly to himself, turning the rawhide in the bucket into a flexible mess so unlike the stiff sheet he had worked into it. He smiled at Jigano's muttering, bringing up the soaked sheet to fasten around one pole and then carefully wrap around the lantern. "I like it," he said into the music-filled silence, "but I agree you might save that verse for later." He smoothed the rawhide out, stretching it as he wrapped it, to make sure it would dry without wrinkles or buckles.
He did not offer any suggestions, though; he might have briefly stolen a poet's soul, but he felt like he had given it back already, too absorbed in his more hands-on craft.
He shook his head slightly to himself, turning the rawhide in the bucket into a flexible mess so unlike the stiff sheet he had worked into it. He smiled at Jigano's muttering, bringing up the soaked sheet to fasten around one pole and then carefully wrap around the lantern. "I like it," he said into the music-filled silence, "but I agree you might save that verse for later." He smoothed the rawhide out, stretching it as he wrapped it, to make sure it would dry without wrinkles or buckles.
He did not offer any suggestions, though; he might have briefly stolen a poet's soul, but he felt like he had given it back already, too absorbed in his more hands-on craft.
