#stormlightarchive

Thump-thump.

Hmm-hmm-hmmm. Hmrph. Notes. Stupid notes. The flute falls from clumsy hands as Kaladin once again stumbles over the thin rhythm that had only just begun to flow in the wake of the Wind's gentle gusts. Kaladin snorts and collapses resignedly onto the impossibly soft grass. The sun stings his eyes a little. Syl circles beneath the ornate clouds, and even from here he can hear her ringing laughter. A silence — tender and enveloping, like mist — spreads through his mind, unfamiliar after years of torment. Well, and maybe a couple of melodies he intends to try playing again once he stops sulking at that piece of wretched wood. For now, though... A breath. Air that smells of unfamiliar plants. The Wind, now playing with his long curls and teasingly tossing them into his eyes. A faint smile.

Kaladin does not yet know how soon he will die.

Thump-thump.

Shff. Shff. Shff. Fashion. Azish fashion, at that! The pages turned almost lazily beneath the glow of several pale-blue spheres inside the tent. These people had such an interesting, intricate pattern! Not that it was any bolder than Alethi clothing, but it clearly stood out for its meticulousness, even in garments. Adolin had even taken a liking to a certain belt and a couple of coats... He leaned back slightly in his chair, and the hand that was accustomed to more space inadvertently knocked a stack of cards, scattering a few of the top ones carelessly. Towers. A card game Adolin had only recently been teaching the boy-emperor Yanagon to play. Oh, there was still so much the lad needed to learn! He giggled and once again buried his fastidious gaze in the book.

Adolin does not yet know how soon he will die.

Thump-thump.

Scratch-scratch-scratch. A sketch. A sketch that was turning out, seemingly, not half bad. The pencil swept quickly across the paper in swirls and patterns, forming three silhouettes of ridiculous (in Shallan's scholarly opinion) curly-haired animals with amusing little spiral horns. Sheep. Ewes. Rams. Lambs. They had come with the humans and were far closer to them than the rubyhounds and cremlings Shallan was accustomed to. So strange. The world was so vast, so mysterious, and all so tangled in its own history — one you could never keep pace with to run and record it all! Shallan sat curled up in a corner of little Renarin's room, legs tucked under her, and watched the prince himself and his... ahem. Hee-hee, singing, for now, friend out of the corner of her eye. They, too, were a small piece of that mysterious world and of all that could happen within it while no one was there to know. And Shallan wants to know everything!

Shallan does not yet know how soon she will die.