"They don't fly at night, ser. I'd hate to wake them without reason."

The joke sets them firmly back on familiar ground. And if I got away with that, what else can I do? some perverse part of Myr wonders; he gives a firm shake of his head to dispel it.

Let it go. No matter how good in conversation he is, how fine a voice and body he's got, (and he doesn't pity me,) Ashlock is a templar and there are rules about this kind of thing. Walk away.

The mage tips his erstwhile sparring partner a salute with his staff, turning on his heel to go collect his robe and hilt. It does not take him long to realize he's gotten turned around, flustered as he was, and heave an impatient sigh at himself. "Where did I put my things..."