17
Firian
Bard snorted in his sleep. “Where’s the… lace?” he muttered. “I lost… tuft of lace….” He rolled over. “Really? I thought… brush had it… Maybe…”
Town day… Knuckling his eyes, Firian rolled off the bed and started getting dressed. Despite Bard’s being gone for a few days, he was still used to these lively one-sided conversations.
“Stop… jumping,” Bard murmured under his breath.
“I’m not,” Firian whispered, absently scratching the back of his neck. The whole room still smelled of the cinnamon that Bard’s mother had packed with his clothes. It was pretty, like a woman’s perfume, which Firian liked on girls but not in their little space, where it felt stifling.
“Lace…”
Dressed and ready, Firian stood and smacked Bard on the arm. “Get up!” he said loudly. “It’s a town day.”
“S
