Moonsong Glacier torn butterfly wings

The Taggerung scarcely knew where he was going, let alone what he was doing in the world. The flicker of pale light could have been anything, a trick of the eye, a flush of sunlight that had broken through cloud. It did not matter. Tagg was far more interested in what the cyclops might say next, what he might share.

It could very well be, the bard remarked with a small nod. He bent his neck to sniff at the mound and then lifted his head.

Saw that glimmering pale light here and I couldn’t help but wonder, the Taggerung remarked rather wistfully. He searched the nearby areas with his gaze for any other signs of it.