Emmrich is waiting, you guys.
Usually he is quite a patient man. One must be with the dead.
But this is trying even his good will. .
“Rook we have been to three different blacksmith shops this morning alone,” he protests as Rook veers to the left where a sign promises “Genuine Dragon Hide Hilt Wraps!”
Lucanis does not help. Lucanis’s eyes light up more than Spite’s and he follows Rook with the anticipation of a much younger person spotting candy.
Rather than be dragged after them, Emmrich releases Rook’s hand, and sighs as Rook answers his protest with a weak, “Just one more, Em. Promise.”
And so he finds a shaded fountain to sit beside. And he waits.
He is only there a short while when a woman, surrounded by a small brood of excited children settles beside him, sets down numerous bags of shopping.
“You don’t mind, do you love?” she says, with the unabashed openness of most of the people of Rivain. “This road is murder on my feet.”
It takes Emmrich half a moment to realise she is addressing him and not one of the half dozen, chattering urchins bouncing around her.
“Oh, not at all, please,” Emmrich motions to the public fountain into which two of the children have already climbed.
“A hot day,” she says conversationally, “but there’s so much to do, and the weather waits for no man, nor woman.”
“Indeed,” Emmrich concedes, glancing up at the punishing sun. He’s grateful now that Taash insisted he cake himself in the cream meant to protect one’s skin from burning.
Her children play for a few moments as she fans herself and they watch the lively activity.
“Do you have any little ones?” she asks.
Manfred, immediately springs to mind. He is spending the day with Bellara, examining the artifacts they gathered from Arlathan last week. No doubt they are elbow bone deep in cogs by now.
The woman see’s Emmrich’s reminiscent smile, “tell me of them.”
By the time Rook and Lucanis wander from the shop, clutching their purchases, they are anticipating at the very least a disapproving tut, and maybe some foot tapping.
Instead they find a smiling Emmrich, surrounded by a dozen entranced children, watching the little dragon he has created from water fly in the air, running and shrieking when it sprays them. No less than four grateful parents are soaking their feet in the fountain.
“Gods, he’s cute,” Rook says and hurries off to that fruit seller Emmrich likes. It’s almost lunchtime and he’ll be hungry after an audience like this.
Spite snorts, but watches the show raptly.
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