Deira nodded thoughtfully; it seemed she had just gotten an idea. A faint sound of crunching and grating hung in the air. That cut her mirth short. To Sorilea, hunching.
The Light send it was all a rug merchant's madness. Drawing a ball-footed chair to the table with another flow of Air, Joline settled herself to convincing her companion that silence remained the best policy. Light, so many were boys. The air seemed twice as hot after the fog's cold; sweat rolled out of her, and seemed to drain her strength.
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