Seisyll leaned back in his chair, his volcanic-scarred face catching the flickering glow of the inn's hearth.
The faint movement in his molten-like scars, subtle and unsettling, drew Fedlimid's attention as though they held secrets of their own. Seisyll didn't speak immediately, his gaze drifting toward Arthur, Melite, and Aleks chatting a few tables away.
With a soft sigh, Seisyll straightened. "We need a quieter corner for this."
Fedlimid raised an eyebrow, curious but wary. Before he could object, Seisyll stood and crossed the room with quiet steps. In his most polite, if uncharacteristically blunt, manner, he gestured toward the others. "This conversation isn't for everyone. Would you mind giving us a moment?"
Arthur, mid-sip of his drink, exchanged a glance with Melite, who merely shrugged and stood.
