Poetry with a Blade
Yi frowned at Master Doran as the elder scrambled up the path toward him. Like a mud crab during mating season. It was a less than courteous thought, but given the master artisan’s age, it was a compliment of sorts.He gave a short bow toward the gray-haired weaponsmith, cupping his hands together in greeting. Red faced, Doran replied without slowing, his hand waving in rhythm with his gasps for breath.“I’m here, I’m here! Sorry for being a little late. These old bones overslept today.”Yi shot a ...