The laughter and high-pitched chatter of the tea party felt miles away, though only a thick hedge of groomed yew separated the terrace from the West Grove. Here, the air was cooler, shaded by the ancient, sprawling oaks that predated the estate itself.
Elric stood by the edge of a stone birdbath, his back to the path. He didn't need to turn to know who was approaching. The heavy, arrogant stride was unmistakable, the sound of a man who believed the ground should feel honored to bear his weight.
"I didn't expect to find the Great Wolf of the North hiding in the shrubbery," Varon's voice rang out, sharp and discordant against the quiet rustle of the leaves.
Elric turned slowly. His silhouette was a dark monolith against the dappled sunlight. He didn't look like a host; he looked like a soldier pausing in the middle of a hunt. His eyes settled on Varon with a lack of interest that was more insulting than a glare.
