SKEKSIL: Hmmm, Hunter is in good shape, Chamberlain admires Hunter, his strength and the way he instills fear in all, his wild eyes making all knees—-
SKEKMAL: You want something.
He hated skekSil. He hated his sly deceiving ways. But he also was fond of him. He still remembered him young, feathered, singing songs which were breaking everyone’s hearts. Even his own lies couldn’t kill that singing creature for good in him. So he despised him. Hated him. But was fond of the memory lingering in his voice, in his looks.
The Cantor still was there. Only maimed and mangled by the spiderwebs of his own misplaced, lost path, which never was straight.
He could never really forget the days of youth. Good day of carefree frolickling, a naive and really stupid times. But so tempting now when his trine counted in hundreds.
This will never return. But he still was seeing in those foolish creatures even more foolish younger selves.
He hated skekSil. Despised his lies.
… but. There is always a completely unnecesary but, which makes everything more complicated…