“You are unrooted, krynn,” said the shaman, as if she were an absolutely normal person who had just done absolutely nothing but absolutely normal things. “You do not stay.”
The krynn offered no reply. His tail gave a single lash, but he kept his stance measured.
The shaman tilted her head. Not far. But far enough to be wrong. It was the kind of gesture someone might make to show curiosity or sympathy — except it came too late and was held too long. Like someone recalling the memory of empathy, and now reproducing it frame by frame for effect.
Amidst everything, Yu became aware of this strange impression; something he had not looked for, but could not ignore. Where had it come from, this insight? It was not that he was in any way skilled in reading body language or unmasking intent. He had no training in dissecting the various complex mannerisms of all different peoples that traversed the continent, let alone seeing through any well-constructed disguises that diverted from them. No, it was the opposite. While he had gained some basic knowledge on the pretences of politics through Tria, Yu had lived as a loner for the majority of his life, which gave him close to no experience with actual people.
Rather, there were bodies that sometimes, quite naturally, talked to him, regardless of how much the person inside wanted the body to shut up, or to say something else entirely. It did not happen often, and the revelations were sometimes hard to decipher. But when it did, he recognised it for what it was. Tirran’s body had done it. From the start, beneath every polished phrase, his posture hummed with dissonance:
Ï̴͋ a͚͒m̏ͭ͢ c̰o̦̝͗at̨̅͂eͥd i̠͊n͈͟ f̴́̀a̺͇ke̷̲͒ fo͉̽͢rͥ͘ma̝͐ͩl̤it̶̻̣y̫̲͓.
That impression had been immediate, and undeniable. Now, Yu felt the same disturbance again. The moment the shaman had fed the needle to herself, her true form had opened up to him, smiling falsehood.
.̬͉̻̎ͯ̓ I̡̚ a̧̩͖͎̠̯ͣ̾ͪm͍̂̎̇̾ t̘ͬ͌̕ỏͫ̀͜͞ g̶̥̻̲ͥ͑͆ͪ̍a̴̢̞͍̦͕ͬ͠ṱ̷̢͙̬͍̿͒͜h͌̿ẽ͇̠r̨̨̪̾̄ a̼̓͂́̅nd̶͎̙̓ͧ to dͣe̎͂̂ͯ͝v̼o͕̠ͭůr̞̾.̴͙͖͕̝ͮ̽̀ͅ.̹̗̮͒̉
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