The Sentinels jos sais kerran reissullansa

When the song came to its end, Starbuck tossed her head and laughed, shaking her head as though some tuft of fur had become unruly during her dance. None had, but she took the moment to preen anyway before slipping up to the singer's side. The woman's voice was smooth and warm, a sun-warmed rock on a cold day. Starbuck would have liked to listen to it forever, but she could settle for an encore. It would not be remiss, she said vaguely, eyes fixed upon the singer's. But first, o singer sweet, will you not tell me your name? I am Starbuck.