Father Solstice
“So our budget is ten silvers, agreed?” Barlo asked, looking up at the elf who walked on the Great North Road beside him.
“Agreed,” Iarion said with a nod. His long, white braids swished around his shoulders.
“And we have to produce our gifts by sundown Solstice Day,” Barlo added.
“And there will be no guessing or searching each other’s belongings,” Iarion said. He gave Barlo a pointed look with his golden-flecked sapphire eyes.
Barlo mimed an injured expression, clutching at his graying brown beard, which trailed down his chest. “I’m hurt you feel you even have to mention that. As if I would stoop to rifling through your things...”
Iarion raised an eyebrow. “So who was it I found snooping through my blankets and bedroll last year? Your twin?”
Barlo rolled his eyes.
