Lost Creek Hollow the prayer of the apostle paul

this jacint, spawn of priest and singer, flashed her his throat. she felt her senses ripple with ardent fascination, which she hid with a smile of teeth over tongue. his words were not his own but familiar enough for her to answer. "mi nombre es lengua de plata," she spoke back in the almost-forgotten roll of the river beside which she had been born. jacint kanaani. "we have holiness here. hunters. herbalists. who is your god?" silvertongue pressed gently, winding softly closer to examine this bard with a closer look.