Piosenniel’s post
Rôg had listened closely to Luindal as he spoke. As sometimes happens, a word caught his attention, sending his thoughts down rambling paths. . . . swim . . . Something he had seen on his explorations with Bear, his Lossoth guide, niggled at the edges of memory. He paused in mid-chew, his eyes fixed on his plate. With his fork, he traced a pattern in the thin pool of gravy on the flat of the dish. A sleek figure in vague outline seemed to move beneath his hand. He could not quite make it out before it disappeared beneath the coalescing sauce. His journal! The entry would be there if he could just remember when he’d written it.
‘I have no ideas of my own . . .’ he heard Luindal trail off in a half question. He took a breath and refocused on the Elf across from him. ‘Give me a little time. There is something I cannot quite recall right now. It may be of some help . . .’
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