Now there's a distressing thought. Simon doesn't object much to bards themselves--except that it doesn't seem fair that some people get to prance around singing for their supper while everyone else has to find a real job--but the notoriety of being immortalized in song is something he could really do without.
"Oh, you can try," he says, "but it'll never catch on." Talented though he may have been as a retriever, he'd make a far less compelling subject than the original bloodhound. He hadn't even been able to inspire the other Ansburg templars to stay and do their jobs throughout the initial rebellion, much less inspire anyone to sing about him.
It galls him a little, at times, to be quite such a nobody, to take orders from people with fewer years and loftier titles than he has, but that's what he appreciates about Wren. There's no embarrassment in playing subordinate to someone genuinely older and more experienced. He moves ahead without further complaint, greatsword at the ready.
There's no sign of bear activity, but a curious ambient feeling of jittery foreboding as if he still expects to run into one at any second. He's not prone to that level of paranoia, except when it's been too long between lyrium doses, and now he swears he can hear humming from somewhere ahead and under them. The map had shown a cave, hadn't it? Somewhere up here. They should be nearly on top of it.
[Edit: No worries! I do that all the time too. Case in point.]
no subject
"Oh, you can try," he says, "but it'll never catch on." Talented though he may have been as a retriever, he'd make a far less compelling subject than the original bloodhound. He hadn't even been able to inspire the other Ansburg templars to stay and do their jobs throughout the initial rebellion, much less inspire anyone to sing about him.
It galls him a little, at times, to be quite such a nobody, to take orders from people with fewer years and loftier titles than he has, but that's what he appreciates about Wren. There's no embarrassment in playing subordinate to someone genuinely older and more experienced. He moves ahead without further complaint, greatsword at the ready.
There's no sign of bear activity, but a curious ambient feeling of jittery foreboding as if he still expects to run into one at any second. He's not prone to that level of paranoia, except when it's been too long between lyrium doses, and now he swears he can hear humming from somewhere ahead and under them. The map had shown a cave, hadn't it? Somewhere up here. They should be nearly on top of it.
[Edit: No worries! I do that all the time too. Case in point.]