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“Oh. Oh, no,” Quin said. He took the seat opposite Léof. “I wasn’t angry – am not angry – I was. . .it was just that it came as such a surprise, and then they were angry about it, and I didn’t want to make it any worse by asking any more questions. Between ourselves,” he said, “I think they rather over-reacted.” He elapsed into momentarily silence, and then said, as though musing to himself, “I would men like Scyrr did not speak so much. They make life so much more difficult.”
He met Léof’s eye briefly and then looked away again, laughing to himself. He had never voiced his real opinion of his fellow men-at-arms to anybody, and he felt it odd that now should be the time that he chose to do it. He liked Léof. He liked him a lot. He was the first person remotely like him or close to him in age he had ever had contact with since he first came into Athanar’s household. He thought perhaps that was why he did not want Eodwine’s return to change anything. He did not want to lose this new friendship.
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