[piosenniel]

Pio leaned back in her chair, shaking her head slowly. No words came. Tears pooled into memories behind clouded eyes. “That can’t be true,” she murmured. “We were to meet at the Windrose Inn – just a few weeks from today.” She shook her head again. “He had a new song to try out… and I wanted to sing some of our old ones again.” With her forefinger she traced the raised grain along the table’s top, losing the line of it as it faded into smoothness.

The sound of her small companion’s wings preceded the weight of the Wyrm’s body as she landed, her talons gripping tightly on the Elf’s shoulder. “Who’s troubling you? Shall I break them?” She fixed a wary eye on Arry. “Just bend them a bit, perhaps.”