Sneak peek (Patreon)

You wait for him to elaborate, tracing circles on the slippery, smooth chiffon while you watch him, hoping your expression alone - open, hopeful, affable - might drag the words out his mouth. Galahad glances away, grabs for the goblet before him and brings it almost all the way to his lips before realizing it's empty, and that there are no pitchers or bottles to be found anywhere near yet. He refuses to put the cup down now, though, holding it up as if he meant to do this all along. In lieu of any liquid he gulps air, throat working heavily against whatever lump is lodged in there, blocking off all his words.

And seems to altogether swallow it - or at least, dislodge it enough for him to ask: "How have you been?" He speaks as if in a language not his own, one he's freshly started learning the basics and fears not accidently insulting someone, unwittingly switching salutation for invective.