Nephil
The darkness of the lower corridors hid Nephil's wide, mischevious grin. He had caught up with his cousin, who knew everything that had happened. How Corith had known, however, remained a mystery. Nephil had long since stopped attending to the minor gossip his kinsman flaunted, but now he was grateful to the socially-bred, sensitive ears Corith had.
Nephil turned a corner and was faced with a few of his peple outdide a heavily barricaded door. One, upon closer inspection, was a woman, sitting sourly in an alcove. Nephil did not recognize her. The other, a man, he did know, by association only, stood at the door, obviously refusing admittance to anyone.
Hence the sour woman. Nephil nodded politely at her. She stared at him as if he was a particularly putrid piece of feces that had just insulted her and everyone she knew. Nephil turned to Kinadhen.
"Alright, so I'm assuming the rumors are true. Meat doesn't often get a gaurd. It's a catch." He said, "And I don't suppose I can see it, correct?"
Kinadhen was a man of few words. He shook his head.
Nephil sighed, but nodded his head. "As I suspected."
Moving over to lean against the wall next to the sour woman's alcove, Nephil pulled put a peice of dried meat.
I'd better get comfortable,He thought, this could take a while.
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