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. I'd love
the company-as you knew." Hillae glided away, and Otik, for all
he felt foolish, was glad he had asked her.
Now the locals were drifting in, for a night of gossip and
warmth after their meals at home. First to come were the red-
haired, gangly Patrig and his parents. Otik nodded to them.
"Frankel. Sareh. Sorry, Patrig; no singers tonight."
"Are you sure?" he croaked. His voice, changing, hadn't come
in right yet.
Patrig's mother leaned forward. "He talks all the time about the
singers he's heard here. He loves music so."
so.
"Loves it from afar," Frankel said, and chuckled as he mussed
Patrig's hair. "Can't sing a note himself."
Patrig ducked and muttered, and the three of them went to sit
down. On the way the young man passed Loriel, newly arriving,
who flashed her hair at him as she spun away.
A voice at Otik's elbow crackled, "Music and flirtation. All
young folk want now is music and flirtation. It's not like the old
days."
Otik nodded respectfully to Kugel the Elder. "I imagine not, sir.
Though I did like a dance myself, in my younger days."
Kugelk scowled. "I mean long before then, young man. Back
when life was simple and dignified, and there wasn't'all this
shouting about romance."
"I'm sure, sir. There's a seat waiting for you by the fire. Do you
need any help?"
Kugel's wife, a bird of a woman, stepped from behind him. "I'm
all the help he's ever needed-though the goddesses know he's
needed all of that
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