Irason waved her hand toward the two of them. In the dim corner, she had already created a rough wooden table with flowers growing on it, and beside it were three stools made of tree stumps wrapped in moss.
Although the damp moss didn't seem suitable for coming into contact with fabric, Lyle still took a seat as Irason gestured for him to do so.
The hard, cracked growth rings didn't nibble away at the leather on his buttocks like a hungry bird; the sensation was more like cotton, soft and warm. It was a novel feeling that one could never imagine, a disparity that could never exist in reality, where basic rules had been ignored and tossed aside into an annoying corner.
That's right, this was a dream.
Irason's body shimmered with greenish-blue specks of light, and tender shoots climbed up her fingers. While Lyle was distracted, the Dragon Lich, now only bones, turned into a smiling elven girl.
She looked at Lyle with pride, like a warm hostess.
