“As twilight settled over Secamelan, Lyrec sat at the same table in the tavern, drinking and chatting with Grohd. His cheek was rosy and his gaze distant, but these were the only signs that the incredible amount of grynne he had drunk had affected him at all. This imbibing of grynne impressed Grohd. He could have accepted anything about Lyrec, any dreadful truth, in light of this remarkable bibulous capacity. Secretly, he was pleased with the biographical information he had heard—that it tallied... so closely with what he had guessed originally. He had no idea how many of the place names and notions he’d supplied Lyrec himself. The story unfolded slowly: Lyrec had been abroad most of his life, in search of a long lost acquaintance who had struck out alone before him; passing through so many lands, he’d forgotten most of his native knowledge, customs, nuances. The blood of cultural veins all ran together. When asked, he informed Grohd that the minstrel of the previous day was not the person Lyrec sought.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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