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rone(i hate the first two paragraphs, i've been agonizing over them for a week, i suck, wah wah, etc.)
I had to deal with the officiously stuffy stablehand again that night when i picked the tack up; i'd not realized how badly i'd offended Ysadil's Asiri sensibilities with my favor-begging ("The Stablemaster is inevitably detained," he intoned stiffly when i asked for her). Mr. Stuffy sniffed and harrumphed as he adjusted the straps around Kohasadi's torso until he was satisfied. "Please get on your mount and try it out," he whined. I hopped on and we took a few flaps around before we came down again. It wasn't great, but it was a marked improvement. I asked Kohasadi, "How's it feel?" He shrugged and cawed. I thanked Mr. Stuffy, who sniffed and went back inside.
I estimated that it would take us all day to fly to the Tashpari border, so it seemed prudent to turn in now at the Ashen Tongue. However, the thought of seeing Gialarçi again made me uncomfortable; where did that kiss come from? What did it mean? I felt adolescently awkward. I decided to duck the situation by sleeping in the stable next to Kohasadi (and avoiding his inquisitive looks).
A flying mount is an improvement over an earthbound mount because the constant pounding of hooves against ground isn't being transmitted to your nether regions. This fact plus the improvised saddle made enough of a difference after a full day's flight that i didn't want to have my legs ripped off once we arrived in Pialesto. It was dingy, even for a border town; there was filth down alleyways and a layer of mud covered the buildings' walls. The place was poorly guarded, as if Tashpar didn't care if someone came along and claimed it for themselves (and who would want to?).
I approached a couple of kids and asked them about the apothecary. One of them played dumb while the other tried to filch my coin pouch. I smacked his hand away and threatened to sic Kohasadi on them, which only made them giggle. They pointed me in the right direction and i flipped them a star each. They yelled horrible things about my mother as we walked away.
The building was built with dwarves in mind, which meant i had to duck my head to avoid hitting the sign that depicted a mortar and pestle that hung above the five-foot-tall doorway. I avoided beams as i made my way to the counter. There was a small gong and mallet, which i rang. A cheerful dwarf with a short beard (well, short for a dwarf) bustled his way out. "Greetings, good sir! What may i do for you today?"
