‘ Seth Shawky, ’ like a distant thunder— the kind that soothes rather than frightens you on long summer evenings— the name vibrates on the tip of his tongue. He has called out many names this past hour, but none that please him as much as this one. Of course his steady voice hardly reveals their more private encounter earlier in the morning, but he senses that his face might be faltering. Shawky’s presence infiltrates him, soothes him like none other, ‘ I trust your expedition was quite the success ? ’ He ought’ve asked him this morning, but his mouth and arms had been desperate for more than talk. If he could just go back those few hours and kiss the earth and salt off his skin; taste the worldliness that he brings back with him, ‘ You really ought have sent someone ahead so that we knew you would return so soon. Things here have been rather slow, and, undoubtedly, my dear sister would have been thrilled to spoil you to a decadent feast to distract us all. How long have you been gone now ? ’ He asks as if he has not subconsciously counted the hours and days from when his ship sailed off the coast. He raises his head and the slight curve on lips only grow wider. He cannot help himself. He gets up to receive his advisor with a friendly, cordial embrace. It is the only time he’ll have a chance to do so within such close proximity of others; without risking the rumors.
