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Summary
“I’m afraid there is no more room for your self-righteousness to expand,” Rolan jabs, unable to resist injecting a cathartic dose of venom into his words.
“I’ll gladly leave it for your hot air, then.” Tav winks, and is already walking past him to break off the conversation and get back at whatever next thing she needs to devote her attention to.
Rolan glowers at the back of her head and neck, at that ridiculous undercut, his tail nearly tying itself into a knot.
Fight her, he decides. If it comes to it, I’ll fight her.
Series
- Part 1 of artisans of faerȗn