Moonsong Glacier torn butterfly wings

Toothy and swift with a grin that swept his features and closed his squinted eye. To an onlooker, it might have appeared as though Tagg was mocking his company. Quite the opposite, really. The Taggerung was up to his ears in interest for the fellow. 

Still a touch frightening, he internalized after his smile had dropped back into a lazy, lopsided thing. Perhaps it was the ominous glint in the man's single eye or the matter-of-fact way that he spoke. Fearsome as it was, the bard was not so easily dissuaded by appearances. 

Aha, no again, sir, the bard answered. The smile became smaller. The Taggerung looked to the grave marking and then back to the other in a swift motion. I prefer to spend my time with the living.