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Ydalon
"My father lives in Telryr," he said in answer to her question of dining, "Or did the last I heard."
He made no effort to keep his words private, though the river swallowed some of his talk. Ydalon wasn't going to grow a steady, low voice any time soon.
"In fact he's boroughmaster there. Pretty dull really, but not to him."
The boy began digging the firepit, though he lacked a proper shovel. There was a rich measure of resentment in his stance.
"We won't be seeing him. He's no mind for the likes of me anyway. You know, with distractions and arguments and all. We're hardly related by now."
Again a shrug.
"I'm not complaining. I've seen some families who...
"They are much worse off," he concluded abruptly.
"Let me just work on this pit a minute."
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