The way continued steadily downgrade for 233 paces and then the passageway narrowed and turned sharply upward and to the right.
“This looks promising. The passage turns away from the river and Aulgmoor. The narrowing passage discourages larger beasts. How much time do you require, Mender?” Yannuvia asked.
“I’ve never endured procreation,” Fisher answered.
“Endured? Isn’t it pleasurable?” Young Jonna naively queried.
“You sound like you dread it! Where’s your mate? How’ll she find you?” Joulie added curiously.
“I’m… Menders are different. I share my ilk’s common awareness, but my pain is my own. Each Mender suffers individually, just like you, she-Drelves,” Fisher replied stoically as always.
“Different strokes for different folks!” Joulie quipped.
Young Jonna looked to Yannuvia for answers, but the Spellweaver uncomfortably shook his head negatively, suggested they move forward, and nodded to Joulie.
Yannuvia asked, “Do you require anything more than soft soil, Mender?”
“Well, yes. Soft soil, a dark place, contact with the gray sun, potting soil with precisely mixed ingredients, privacy, and time,” Fisher rambled blankly.
“He doesn’t want much, does he?” Joulie quipped in frustration.
“And he says courtship and mating is complicated! Finding a life mate seems simple compared to confinement. I’m told it’s romantic. Is that true, Spellweaver?” Jonna interjected.
“You may see age in my eyes, Jonna, but I’ve only walked the world for thirteen years. You’re likely more experienced than I,” Yannuvia admitted.
benjamintowe 