Kaelen had been standing on the rocky shore for so long that his legs had stopped feeling like legs.
The mermaid had not stopped talking. Her voice was a fluid stream of clicks and soft whistles, punctuated by gestures that grew more emphatic every time it became obvious he understood absolutely none of it. Water ran off her blue scales in sheets. Every so often she pointed at Thalion, then at the sea, then at the sky, then at Kaelen's chest, and clicked faster.
"I'm sorry," Kaelen said for the ninth time. "I really, truly have no idea what you're saying."
She clicked something that sounded distinctly rude.
Behind him, Thalion stood motionless with his arms folded, watching them both with the wary blankness of a man who had woken up in the middle of a conversation and decided not to admit it. The Ant King had pulled its head out of the water some time ago and now sat on a rock, six arms folded neatly, golden eyes half-lidded as if the entire scene bored it.
