Adam followed Yann through the forest, shadows of pines' branches coiling around his fluttering coat. With each echo of their steps, the mist intensified, robbing them of a few more meters of clear vision until all he could see were the arabesques of grey wisps against the even greyer forest.
Amidst the deepening silence, however, a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips. Yann only served his interests. He knew questions would only meet more demands for wine or items from the arcanist. As if he would let anyone take advantage of his ignorance—he never had, and never would.
Instead, he was merely waiting for the hooked fish to exhaust itself and rise to the surface, information flowing out of its gaping mouth. After all, his crafting show was not entirely innocent. And just as expected, Yann's discreet glances at his coat began to turn into focused glares.
The time had come.
