Oaths

“How was the magistrate?” Belegorn teased playfully, his normally deep baritone voice jumping an octave higher to a normal man’s voice, looking bereft of the squire Baranor whom he had unceremoniously dumped into a local stable’s haybale. He carried his distinctive feathered-helmet in the crook of his arm and waved with his free hand.

Where did my wandering days go?

            Undómion let his fingers drift over the blue diamond, feeling its hard and unmarred surface, while listening to the low echo of song from the raindrops encased beneath. He remembered the mass effort to enclose actual water beneath the gem’s surface without doing too much damage to the crystal.