The ratty state of Destyn’s garments— torn, frayed and stained as they were— along with his general lack of concern, suggested he had no such concern for the deleterious effects of blueberry juice on fabric.
“I have heard of Solunarium, but not good things. My friend Avamande said, you know, not good things about it and also my friend Imogen who almost drowneded me by accident. There are, I think I have heard, evil elfs there— is this so? I only know nice elfs.” He paused upon hearing himself, wrinkled his nose and amended:
“Well, no. Laurevere is not nice. Nor was Avamande, truly, but they are, at least I think, good elfs if not nice.” That felt more correct now that it was out and he nodded to himself in internal affirmation of his own self-correction.
“I passed not through your land. We went by boat. Magical boat, so the trip was unnatural quick.” He nodded thoughtfully at Hilana’s sentiment about her own verbosity. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but he didn’t disagree either so he shrugged and said:
“I guess so. Laurevere says that I, you know, also talk a lot, so now I am more mindful of when other people do this also, like you do. Most of my friends are more quieter than I am. If I did not fill their silences, everyone would be, I think, bored. They are, you know, lucky to have me around.” Again he nodded at his own statement, this time more sagely— arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. He looked almost soulful for a moment, before his eyes snapped back open and landed on the berries, from which he claimed another tithe.


