( long, his answer in coming. he takes part challenge, part appeasement, has little preparation, plenty of charming words. until he does, finally, answer with the vision of himself, instead of the words of his authorship alone. lips red, crimson, lurid compared to his complexion, which has more colour to it now than it had in serthica. that will change again, soon enough.
for now he smiles, and it's a small, genuine thing, undercut by the nervous lathe of his tongue over his lower lip. these are not the simple, quiet brooks he leapt across as a young man. these rivers run deep, these waters run long, and their boat is only as steady as their hearts and minds are, harmonising. )
no subject
for now he smiles, and it's a small, genuine thing, undercut by the nervous lathe of his tongue over his lower lip. these are not the simple, quiet brooks he leapt across as a young man. these rivers run deep, these waters run long, and their boat is only as steady as their hearts and minds are, harmonising. )
Do you want lamp light to cherish the fading red, Lan Zhan?