He shook his head, his lips pursed. Whilst relieved that she had neglected to mention anything of the previous evening quite yet, he was still sure that he wasn't off the hook. These were the sort of games that he did poorly at. Or, at the very least, they were the sort of games that he was least practised in handling.
A stern-faced and well-dressed yellow-shirted student opened the door to the balcony, and in came the vicious winter wind, like an icy dagger. He did a brief inspection of the ground. It seemed to have been shovelled that morning, but more snow had laid since then. He began to scrape up the remnants, and Asabel politely excused them from their company.
"You don't mind if I talk to Oliver alone, do you, Verdant?" She asked the priest. Verdant glanced at Oliver to see if he had any requests of him, but Oliver shook his head.
