[ Saralegui wasn't wrong in his assessment of their surroundings; some weeks ago, it had been a derelict place with a reputation for being haunted. Even with a repaired roof and the moss scrubbed away, it was eerie and empty without the noise of servants or guests or a proper household. And there was almost not a stick of furniture in sight, until Tzilan opened the door in question.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, and tall, thin painted-glass windows let uncertain evening light stream into the space. Sconces burned with blue-white flame, but produced only just enough light to illuminate the corners and not the roof. Writing instruments and open tomes and ledgers rest heavily on several big, well-carven desks of dark wood. Gargyles and lions and ivy traced up their sides.
Tzilan went towards one such desk, and a basin of water. From a drawer of the desk he produced a few large squares of fine blotting linen, and tossed one straightaway into the water, slipping himself into a straight-backed, wooden chair which had been cockeyed before the desk.
The black dragon had gone to the floor at the first door, and followed them like an interested hound, its heavy, wicked-looking claws clicking against the stone. It hissed with clever interest at the pale dragon's screeches and squalls, and nosed after the pale fabric of Saralegui's skirts and clothing, slitted nostrils flaring while it tried to parse out who he was and where he'd been. Hissed again, like a disturbed viper, and with batlike efficiency began to clamber up the side of the desk for a better vantage of the goings-on, deep claws gouging the fine woodwork. After all, the room had no perch...
Tzilan shot the black dragon an ugly scowl. ]
Ratha! Stubborn beast, I've taught you better manners. Incorrigible thing, he'll ruin anything trying to get a better vantage...
[ With a sigh, Tzilan opened his arms to Sara. ]
Here; let's see if she will come to me so I can have a better look. If not, you'll sit, and we'll wash and dress the wound with care.
no subject
The walls were lined with bookshelves, and tall, thin painted-glass windows let uncertain evening light stream into the space. Sconces burned with blue-white flame, but produced only just enough light to illuminate the corners and not the roof. Writing instruments and open tomes and ledgers rest heavily on several big, well-carven desks of dark wood. Gargyles and lions and ivy traced up their sides.
Tzilan went towards one such desk, and a basin of water. From a drawer of the desk he produced a few large squares of fine blotting linen, and tossed one straightaway into the water, slipping himself into a straight-backed, wooden chair which had been cockeyed before the desk.
The black dragon had gone to the floor at the first door, and followed them like an interested hound, its heavy, wicked-looking claws clicking against the stone. It hissed with clever interest at the pale dragon's screeches and squalls, and nosed after the pale fabric of Saralegui's skirts and clothing, slitted nostrils flaring while it tried to parse out who he was and where he'd been. Hissed again, like a disturbed viper, and with batlike efficiency began to clamber up the side of the desk for a better vantage of the goings-on, deep claws gouging the fine woodwork. After all, the room had no perch...
Tzilan shot the black dragon an ugly scowl. ]
Ratha! Stubborn beast, I've taught you better manners. Incorrigible thing, he'll ruin anything trying to get a better vantage...
[ With a sigh, Tzilan opened his arms to Sara. ]
Here; let's see if she will come to me so I can have a better look. If not, you'll sit, and we'll wash and dress the wound with care.