Meduion's lips curled into a grin, looking at Archer's gift to the lady Estenthel of a toy wooden horse with amusement. No practical value, to be sure, but then again, there was no practical value in many of his own arts, with words and books and old kingdoms long past. Still, he thought to himself, he knew just how to offer a gift of his own. The scholar leant back on his hands, looking at the trees that lay upon the plains to the north, and drifted into thought... with typical cleverness, as well as a certain state of mind.
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