[ She squints at Haran with mistrust. Would he lie to her over such a thing? Or does he find the magician entertaining and is trying to draw her into this silly game. She purses her lips trying not to blurt out the words that whirl through her head, but then out they come, ]
So you're dangling a prize before him that isn't yours to give.
[ He's bored. She seethes. If he is so bored he should take his leave from her House and allow her to get on with the work of reconstructing what he has ruined. She hates him. She almost prays that the pathetic magus boy somehow tricks this bastard and robs him of all of this. She would almost rather a stranger have the Hill than this treacherous demon spawn. ]
[A light, provocative shrug. There is nothing wrong about what she says - the hyenas did have a taste for their own family members. A special treat from Haran every time he came over with a new dead one.]
You bring such nice flowers to this house. Can't you just say nice things?
[He pauses for just a moment of thought, dramatically bringing a finger to his chin, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. She does have a lovely voice that comes even more alive when she recites those poems. It's easy to guess that she would not pick things too close to her heart, though. No, those are reserved for people she likes.
Her precious faeries, he imagines.]
Yes. You will read it to me, and to the boy. Tonight, after dinner.
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So you're dangling a prize before him that isn't yours to give.
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What isn't mine to give?
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The Hill is no secret. You feed it what it craves, nothing more, nothing less.
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So I'll feed It the wizard. If that's what It wants.
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Why the delay.
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I'm bored. He entertains me, and he has interesting gifts. It is what I want.
[Bbbbrrrraaaatttt.]
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Whatever you say, Haran.
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Don't say that.
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[ All pretense is tumbling away from her, like a shedding of dead leaves and she cannot clutch them back to her fast enough. ]
You'll do as you will and if I truly impede you, you will feed me to the hyenas.
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You bring such nice flowers to this house. Can't you just say nice things?
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Shall I read you poetry then?
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Her precious faeries, he imagines.]
Yes. You will read it to me, and to the boy. Tonight, after dinner.
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And then she turns on heel and leaves the room. ]