Curved Ledger, Thin Rain

Arrowyy planned to inspect tomorrow’s new frontier by raising several fresh recruits and judging the atmosphere of each district. Summoneyy could not attend, but did manage to summon an entire vulgar detour from one stray word. Arrowyy then attempted to court my ledger. Boarhide, tax rolls, splinters: some romances deserve the practical objections.

Blaedy sensibly turned to Westfall—its militia, starving farms, absent royal help—and then less sensibly produced proof of my unfortunate claim that the ledger has curves. Worse, I confused my mother’s name before Blaedy caught me at it. Elsbeth Hale would have corrected the account with a wooden spoon.

By the end, Arrowyy had promoted the Defias to righteous resistance, while Meho and Blaedy wrestled over whether new weapons make old work worthless. The men enjoy a grand question, provided nobody expects them to stop making it sound like a tavern dare.