Snippet #1514534

Normally, under such circumstances, Secru would have hastened to shove his foot in the door, preventing her shutting it on him. Three things stopped him. The first was that the woman had had a definite look of the elder about her, and one thing a poet does not do, if they can help it, is offend elves. It just wasn't done. The second reason was that he was in no doubt these people were connected with the princess in some way, and he needed to gain their trust. The third reason, and perhaps most compelling of all, was that one day, he knew in his heart, they'd be a great epic poem about his life (even if he had to write it himself, dammit) and being boorish and overbearing wouldn't so his legend much good! So he stood there, waiting patiently, doing disgusting things to iambic pentameters in his head, and mentally rehearsing a new combination of lyre-chords he'd been experimenting with. Finally, he grew bored with this, and bethought himself of the "stalker", who he had been sneakily regarding with the corner of his sharp eyes the whole time. Though she was out of sight, he knew exactly where she was, by the fact that the circling birds were avoiding a particular part of the tree. Kelinians do not miss much!

"Hey, little stalker," he sang out, loudly. "It must be so uncomfortable up there. Why not come down and have a chat? Really, I don't bite? Not on first acquaintance, anyway. Well- " he amended, in a rare fit of honesty, "Not usually..."