Farin had followed Larin's movements all over the field, out of the corner of his eye.
He sighed, lowering the flute and holding it in his lap, weighing the question as he leaned on his mentor. He liked when he had those affectionate gestures, he hadn't had many during his childhood
But he was a crafty little devil, he couldn't help but think that a smug bard would be less inclined to be stern.
"I'd rather sing," he said.
He was aware, by the bard's own admission, that having taken the path of singing before his voice began to change would have made him a remarkably talented adult.
And Farin had shown that he already possessed a lot of talent.
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