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    Summary

    In the commotion of Amaurot, amidst the clamor of hurried steps and raised voices, his companion made his place in quietude. A held breath, a quiet chuckle. The furthest thing from disruptive, but distinct enough for the observant to take note. Which, Hades supposed, is exactly what drew Azem to the man in the first place. She always was one for the oddities.

    “What is it now, Aisa? We’re going to be late.” 

    Azem’s apprentice smiled sheepishly up from where he had knelt to fuss over a crack in the path, his robes trailing in the road's dust. “Nothing, Hades. It’s just… a little flower.”

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    Language:
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