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    Summary

    Taash leaned forward with their elbows on their knees, a coffee cup cradled in their big hands. "How much wine are the two of you going to drink anyway?"

    "It's more about tasting and less about drinking," Lucanis explained.

    "And smelling," Spite added, speaking through Lucanis so all could hear. "Smells like grass. Or leather. Or water on hot stones."

    "You've been practicing!" Emmrich said. "Oh Spite, that's marvelous!"

    "Still tastes. Like sour apples. And stale tea."

    Lucanis shrugged and smiled. "It's a start."


    Long ago, Lucanis Dellamorte made his peace with death. Now he wonders whether he can find a way to make peace with life.

    Language:
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