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Sketch in My Notebook |
***
Most of the Pony’s patrons made way. The voltans watched me come. They didn’t move towards their pikes, though. That was something. The center voltan wore a blue sash with silver trim—the mark of a warrior-caste princeling. I’d never fought a princeling before. I figured the others for bodyguards.
The leader’s voice was deep and liquid, but his Basic was unaccented. “What do you want, human fool? Have you come to die on my blade?”