"All right. Show me what you can do," I murmured, sitting down huffily into a stool.
Shaman walked up to the aisle, actions elegant and dripping like a cat's. The ball gushed from his hand like water from a vessel, gliding smoothly down and hitting nine braces.
When his ball receded, he tossed it skillfully once more and took out the adamant tenth.
"This is going to be a lengthy night."
"Cheer up." He chucked my chin.
"We will bring you through this. Try it again, and struggle more toward the left. I am going to buy us some beers."
I tossed to the left as instructed but only accomplished in hitting the left trough. On my second throw, I tried greater temperance and struggled to hit one pin on the distant left. I whooped in resentment of myself.
"Nicely accomplished," praised Shaman, putting two cups of ordinary beer down on the table. I had not drank anything not from a microbrewery in over a decade.
