"The poetry? Does it help?" he asked, sliding back into his seat, stretching out long legs, the end of his tail draped over the arm of the chair. It's like being offered a single grain of salt, I thought. But I'd just been reassured of my absolute free will in this house, and unlike Isabel, I would not return that blessing with an insult. "A little," I said. Conall beamed. "Then allow me to try my own hand." "Conall," Asterion groaned. The Red Wolf sat up in the chair and cleared his throat.
