12-26-2007, 09:51 PM
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quite good, thanks! how was your's?
Wick.
The name stung him and calmed him. It was enough to make the connection; it had been Valerik's after all. Sedition was not (quite obviously) Salvaged, but had the same blood running through him. The same blood, in fact, which flowed through Endymion.
Stunned, the two-year-old drifted toward the seat Sedition had indicated. "Endymion Russo," he muttered, sitting down slowly. He figured his name would also ring a bell or two for the older male. Momentarily his pale eyes wandered to the carving in his hands, admiring the intricate design. Endymion was a craftsman himself, though hadn't ever worked with stone. His trade was leatherworking and woodcarving. His gaze returned to the face of the stranger, yet another part of his extended family he didn't know a thing about. It was a nice face, silvery and blue-eyed. At first glance, the man didn't look a thing like the Spaher's father. But there was something about him, which Endymion could not place, that made him think of Salvaged. Perhaps it was the name, and he was just imagining it.
"I suppose you realize we're related," said the wolf, scratching at a spot behind his ear.
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