aburninghills
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“Enki has had an issue with getting the poppies to grow in the greenhouse,” Tyr says. “He began planting larger batches a few months ago, but not all of them have been doing as well.”
“We won’t run out, enough of them are still good to harvest, he’s told me. Enough for what we’ll need for assignments.” Tyr says these words very carefully and Altan understands the implication. Enough for summoning gods, not enough for an addict to waste with his pipe.
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“You let him play with corpses?” Altan inquired, turning back to the fire where Feylen was warming his hands.
“Ramsa’s a little freak,” Feylen said.