Whilst i'm done, I brush crumbs from my cheeks and head for my room. Gnarbone, a servant with long ears and a tail that drags at the floor, stops inside the hall while he sees me. He's wearing a tray of thimble-size acorn cups and a silvery decanter of what smells like blackberry wine in his massive, clawed palms. His livery is pulled tight across his chest, and pieces of fur stick out of the gaps.
"Oh, you're at home," he says, a growl in his voice that makes him appear menacing no matter how benign the phrases he speaks. Regardless of myself, i'm able to't assist taking into account the protect who bit off the top of my finger. Gnarbone's enamel should snap off my complete hand.