"Eat shit, dog," the voice rasped from the gloom behind the bars.
Aldon said it to wound, but it seemed to instead find a soft mark in Merelao.
As he tossed his head back, his soft laughter smashed through the cramped stone corridor, the torchlight bathing his features in a warm, mercurial glow. He let the mirth run its course until it withered into a faint, lingering sigh.
"I suppose an old nut like you requires a heavier stone to crack," Merelao said, his voice dropping to a silken purr. "I cannot say the same for poor Sir Rolan. It seems his spirit has wandered to a place where his weary body cannot follow.What a weary thing to see..."
