No
more than ten paces separated the two. As Olitus moved forward, so did the
Sepherii, until they were both within feet of each other. To Thom’s amazement,
Torr extended one long leg and bent the other in what could only be defined as his
equivalent of a bow. Olitus acknowledged the Sepherii’s formal greeting with a
nod of his head.
“These
are strange times in Faltofar. No human would deny the blessings of your kind
at his or her side,” Olitus said, with the beginning of a smile. “I speak for
my family in saying we are honored.”
Torr
stood to his full height, his head tilted proudly back. His eyes spiraled and a
low hum emanated from him. The previously unconcerned grouse hens, disturbed by
the activity in the yard, flapped and squawked in their pen. Olitus, displaying
the sense of humor he was renowned for, began to laugh at the clamor of anxious
bird noise that filled the air, and the formality of the moment dissipated in
the fresh night air. His father’s laughter was infectious, and Thom joined in,
the tension he’d felt all day disappearing in the dusty yard. Olitus gathered
his son to his side in a bear hug.
“The
Sepherii is well taken care of, Thom?” he asked, waving a weary hand at the
bandaged foreleg.
“Good!”
he exclaimed at Thom’s nod.
Olitus
swiped his hand across eyes bleary with dust and travel, scratching at the
growth of a beard. “Then let us leave him to the night for now.” Before turning
away, Olitus stepped even closer to the Sepherii and spoke softly. “Well met,
Torr. I am glad for your company.” He nodded a goodnight and moved toward the
porch.
Thom
hastily stepped closer to the Sepherii, awkwardly raising his hand, indecisive
as to whether he should extend it in a handclasp or just wave. He opted for the
wave.
“Good
night Torr,” he said, then hurriedly followed Olitus, almost bumping into him
when his father stopped abruptly. Olitus
had pivoted to address Thom when his eyes alighted on the dwarf’s club tucked
into his son’s belt. All humor was gone. The moment stretched out.
“I
would gather you have a story to tell me, son, but I am in need of the comfort
of our hearth and your mother’s kindness, and words are better woven in the
light.”
Faltofar, Chapter Five, A Reunion
of Sorts
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