XI | The Polyhistor’s Tale
“You love her madly don’t you, Dravidian?”
They walked along the bustling west quay: Ripipin, Pepperlung and he, through the cool shadows of the exquisite dragger prows which towered above their heads, and Dravidian felt as though he were being jostled about like a ragdoll between his two prodding brothers—inebriated, the whole sorry three of them, with the euphoria of Sacrificium Eve: the eve before they would once again begin ferrying those chosen in the Lottery down the River Dire.
“I love only the fear in her eyes when she sees me!” Dravidian shouted, and leapt forward to swat at the ignudi gathered upon a mooring cable.
The elfemales exploded skyward in a dazzling cloud of color.
“Aye,” said Pepperlung, “spoken like a true ferryman, I’d allot.” He level
