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."
"Ooh, let me see. I want to see." Tosch bubbled with
excitement.
"There's nothing for you to look at yet," she explained.
But she knew deep in her heart that even if there had been,
she would not have shown it to anyone, not even Tosch. Her
painting was too private, too personal. Later, when she
improved her craft, when she had captured Seron the way
she remembered him, only then would she let the world see
her work. Not before.
Tosch was disappointed that he couldn't see her
pictures, but the color on her face buoyed him up
nonetheless. "I'll fly you over to the tavern," he offered
cheerfully. "Lets go."
"Not today," she said. "I want to keep working."
Her old friend shrugged and said, "Okay. I'll see you
later."
Tosch did, indeed, see her later . . . fourteen years later.
By then, Kyra was an aging barmaid, working only to earn
enough money to keep her in paints, brushes, and canvas.
She had never stopped painting her beloved Seron.
"Notice anything different?" the dragon said easily, as if
he were just picking up yesterday's conversation.
Kyra was used to it, though, and happily beamed with
joy at his appearance in front of her crumbling shack. "It's
your nose," she said, after looking him over
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