[ He laughs, low and a little hollow, cup rising to drain more of his drink. Another mouthful to fill in those empty spaces, another to warm his weary bones.
Could he deny it? No, not in the slightest. Just by the sound of them they sound like the forlorn, torn and denied that which brought them both such joy. The warmth of home. ]
What a pair we must make.
[ A knight and the rebel queen, commiserating together on such a miserable night. ]
What of your home, mademoiselle? Tell me of the suns of India. I would know of their beauty.
no subject
Could he deny it? No, not in the slightest. Just by the sound of them they sound like the forlorn, torn and denied that which brought them both such joy. The warmth of home. ]
What a pair we must make.
[ A knight and the rebel queen, commiserating together on such a miserable night. ]
What of your home, mademoiselle? Tell me of the suns of India. I would know of their beauty.