[Something in Fitcher's face cools by degrees as Yseult continues—the impulse to raise eyebrows and smile like she has a question, maybe. The difference between a shepherding dog lying on its side in the sun and one who has an ear cocked.
Well.
The smothered pipe is tucked behind her ear. She waits.]
no subject
Well.
The smothered pipe is tucked behind her ear. She waits.]