Snippet #2800414

Falcon paused, her gaze turning back to the hooded speaker as he grasped her arm. Her eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, then she nodded slowly.

"A warning I take well heed of," Falcon said, the light breeze still tickling the ends of her silvery hair. "Yet I have no ready alternative. Nor do I believe that M'Kama will listen to a warning I give. He is, hmm, strong-headed?" Falcon smiled reassuringly. "But rest assured, although I have as of yet stood by the sidelines, I have an interest in what will soon occur. Tell me, stranger, do you know what Kilakanji is plotting?"

***

Settled in the study was Gutner's son Tatim, or Tate for short, a young man of sturdy build who probably resembled Gutner as he was a few decades prior. Seated on the carpet rather than one of the chairs in the room, Tate was concentrating on a small object in front of him. As Gutner entered the study, he could see that the object was a small wooden model that Tate was painstakingly piecing together, using small bits of string and glue his father had been able to acquire for him.

Upon hearing his father's voice, Tate looked up, his expression turned from one of focus to one of delight. Springing to his feet, Tate wrapped his father in a hug, his sticky fingers leaving traces of paste on Gutner's shirt.

"Dad, dad," Tate said, grinning and pointing to his creation. "Dad, horse. Horse." Turning back to his model, which did indeed resemble a horse (although missing one of its legs still), Tate seated himself again, picking up his work and displaying it Gutner proudly. "Horse!"