"Vengeange, I have many songs about that," Nayk said. He cracked his knuckles. He didn't give off the impression of a fighter, but poets and singers could still stab, burn and poison.
Serenica was thrilled by this development.
"There are never enough poets, lovers and healers," she said, for a strange sort of tropical fever had taken over her and she wanted to make her stance known. "I assume they also imprisoned healers? I have never seen such sickly, superstitious people."
"You're a healer? It's odd that they didn't kill you on sight." Nayk raised an eyebrow that had an arch and a color that even Serenica got a little bit envious of. He was handsome if one looked at him three times with squinted eyes.
"How do those people even survive?" the captain cried out, apparently anxious about the thought of such an impossibly backwards society.
