( The beam of their gazes locks over the same scrawls and withered lines, the same meaningless shapes and outlines. He shrugs, once and uneven, as if the hours afforded to this habit, his single proper entertainment, are as nothing to him.
As if, holding out one of the torn papers with an illustrated lighthouse, it's just this easy. )
You can have it. Sell it to the merchants, call it my masterpiece. One of its kind. (But, then, apologetically. ) As long as they don't know about the other dozen.
( And they won't, now will they? His voice sharpens. ) Even then. Art of the... what is it now? Fallen? That's what they say. Fallen. As if it's the word. From what I'm told, most of it's still standing. It's only the people who've gone. Right, boy? Art of the fallen Ellethia. History in the making. Don't sell it cheap.
no subject
( The beam of their gazes locks over the same scrawls and withered lines, the same meaningless shapes and outlines. He shrugs, once and uneven, as if the hours afforded to this habit, his single proper entertainment, are as nothing to him.
As if, holding out one of the torn papers with an illustrated lighthouse, it's just this easy. )
You can have it. Sell it to the merchants, call it my masterpiece. One of its kind. (But, then, apologetically. ) As long as they don't know about the other dozen.
( And they won't, now will they? His voice sharpens. ) Even then. Art of the... what is it now? Fallen? That's what they say. Fallen. As if it's the word. From what I'm told, most of it's still standing. It's only the people who've gone. Right, boy? Art of the fallen Ellethia. History in the making. Don't sell it cheap.