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[greying_raven]

The listening man sits in the sun, warm to touch the way a stone is because it sits under the sky. If you have something to say, he's here.

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[freyborg_fenix]

"Nice day," Stock says briefly (a usually incomprehensible sentence), from where he stands, some feet away.

[greying_raven]

Luther looks to him and smiles, welcoming.

[freyborg_fenix]

Stock smiles back, and looks away. "Been a while since we've talked," he comments. (Brevity isn't something that comes naturally to the poet, but Luther's contagious.)

[greying_raven]

Luther nods, indicates the chair next to his, inviting Stock to sit.

[freyborg_fenix]

Stock takes a seat. "...Have you seen, or talked to, or anything, or - ...I mean, have you seen - anyone, lately?"

[greying_raven]

"Zara's well."

[freyborg_fenix]

He turns faintly red, looking away quickly. "Oh, well, good. That's good. ...Just that?"

[greying_raven]

"She was sick. Better now." He looks up.

[freyborg_fenix]

"Sick?" He sounds alarmed, suddenly, and whirls around on Luther. "Sick with what? Zara doesn't get--has she been not eating again?"

[greying_raven]

He nods. "Unconcious for a while."

[freyborg_fenix]

"---But she's better now, right? Damn her, stupid little-- Damned stupid, but-- But she's better now, right?"

[greying_raven]

"Was. Angry again now."

[freyborg_fenix]

"Angry's not dying, anyway," he mutters.

[russet_goddess]

"Who's dying?"

[freyborg_fenix]

"---Not you, from all accounts," Stock says, schooling his face before rising from his chair and turning to face her. "Unless Luther lies."

[russet_goddess]

"Luther never lies," carelessly, casting a look at the gentleman in question. "And I'm not dying."

Even though I haven't eaten anything to-day, she means.