It’s not all angst, you know.

He reminds me of Alvis in a way, and Knothall. A male beaten down by centuries of battle, not artist work. “Can I ask you something?”

 He dips his needle in the ink and takes my right arm gently, rolling it over to begin work on my forearm. A mild annoyance of pain ensues, and he gives me a simple nod.

“What is a Zemer?” I ask quietly, expecting something crazy. He chuckles, bushy eyebrows raising as he focuses on his work.

“Tis from the old language, Zemer is a type of musician, one so talented they’re said to be made from music itself. Those Te’omin though, the twins? Oy, are they a handful.” He mutters, a sly grin pulling his wrinkles.

My cheeks warm and a small laugh escapes me. “They aren’t too awful.” 

Novak is playing his lute now in the center of the square. Umber and the twins are keeping him company, clapping along to his music. Children dance about and Novak skips around with the little ones, smiling wide while he strums wildly.

Alvis asks Umber to dance and she agrees with haste. He catches my eye, happiness is spread across his face and he throws me a wink. Waves of Fae and humans join the fun, some kind of dance everyone seems to know commences without a word.

Males join arms with females, swinging and twirling each other around. Orion and the Fae I assume to be Emeric stand on the sidelines, quiet joy beaming from the two.

Yes, I can imagine this place feeling like home.

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