Rovan paused and folded his hands again, looking at the two others by the table with a light frown. He had reacted without much thought at Jonathon and almost scolded him, which naturally caused the newcomer to seek social contact with Vizyous instead. He would want to see in which direction the conversation would go before adding something himself. Barking further comments too soon would just make him look like a threatened dog. Careful now, he told himself. No need to make a scene. He felt the tingle of amusement as a thought surfaced. Jonathon had just missed to hear of the Symnestra's deadly heritage. Rovan wondered how he would have acted if he knew of this. A casual remark had left the Symnestra, although he did not seem entirely present. His mind was likely elsewhere in the past, Rovan thought, as he had digged down in it. The scholar glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure whether more came to their table. He would hate to be surprised a second time. His gaze caught sight of a person wrapped utterly in black for a brief moment. One who definitely did not look like an ordinary citizen. He had reached a conclusion as he turned his eyes back to the table: Taverns are havens for the most mentally unstable and exotic of people. |