Andrev paused. His heart stuttered in his chest. Rastaban stood with some of the other Wanderer Elders, probably discussing what magical performance they would put on for the midsummer feast.
“Pardon?” Andrev asked.
Rastaban looked at him, puzzled. “The feast tonight. You haven’t been to one yet. You absolutely must come.”
Andrev shifted his spear from hand to hand. “Sir, I don’t think I --”
Rastaban grinned. “I understand - there’s a maiden in the main camp, isn’t there?”
Andrev shook his head quickly. “No, but --”
“Then come to our feast! You’re one of us. I hear you play the pipes well.”
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