"Arlo, Arlo," Inara's voice echoed in the air, a haunting melody that seemed to dance with the wind. Arlo found himself entranced by the sight of the sword, its blade gleaming under the moonlight, a beacon amidst the darkness.
'Why is this sword here?' Arlo's voice was filled with confusion, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last.
"SMACK!" Inara's hand landed on Arlo's back, snapping him out of his daze. "What's gotten into you? Is this some kind of act you put on to draw attention?"
Arlo stammered, "Inara, to whom does this sword belong?"
"That bald guy's," Inara replied nonchalantly, "Why? Is it broken?"
Arlo remained silent, his gaze fixed on the sword. Inara sighed, " This is none of my business, but I want to know what's troubling you. Just spill it out."
