[ Jeannot nods agreeably. And fondly. The passion is admirable! Maybe it would be more admirable directed toward faith or people than toward white deer with funny antlers, but it's certainly better than none at all. ]
[--He offers, in a prayer, to... well, the Maker, probably. Maybe Andraste. She seems more reasonable in some ways.]
All right, yes, the Maker. But second to the Maker should be me, not some-- pack of know it all forest children with dewdrops in their knifey ears!
Look. It is simple. Will a deer eat oats? Yes, of course. Will a halla eat oats? Probably. I don't see why it wouldn't. But should a halla eat oats? Should it become reliant on horsefeed? Variety is best for the stomach. What's more, should we be diverting horse feed to the feedbags of the halla? We did not ask for them. We do not collectively believe that they should be kept, like common pets. Just because some little elves believe it is some birthright!
Do you think they really have dewdrops on their ears? They do sleep outside. When the dew forms in the mornings it must go somewhere. I know we have woken up damp—perhaps if our ears angled so the moisture would gather.
[ There's quill scratching in the background. ]
After you have liberated their halla, you should ask them.
Oh, you're terrible. Terrible. I feel abandoned. When Freddie gets here, just wait. I am ready to feel less abandoned and more understood and, and--
Rain traps. As if I care about these things. I am telling you about a real problem. A trouble. An issue. And you talk about rain traps. And you are writing. I can hear it. The irritating scratching sound your handwriting has. You are heartless. If you stabbed your pen in your heart to punish yourself, nothing would happen, because there is nothing there.
[Freddie would. But Freddie isn't here to say otherwise.]
There is very little marvelous about you. [well] All right, that is a lie. But at the moment it is so hard to marvel, because you are not taking me at all seriously. As if anyone would bother to read a paper written about elf ears.
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Perhaps their secret, [ he muses, ] is oats.
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Oa-- Whose side are you on?
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[ Honestly. ]
What is wrong with oats? The horses eat oats.
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[--He offers, in a prayer, to... well, the Maker, probably. Maybe Andraste. She seems more reasonable in some ways.]
All right, yes, the Maker. But second to the Maker should be me, not some-- pack of know it all forest children with dewdrops in their knifey ears!
Look. It is simple. Will a deer eat oats? Yes, of course. Will a halla eat oats? Probably. I don't see why it wouldn't. But should a halla eat oats? Should it become reliant on horsefeed? Variety is best for the stomach. What's more, should we be diverting horse feed to the feedbags of the halla? We did not ask for them. We do not collectively believe that they should be kept, like common pets. Just because some little elves believe it is some birthright!
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[ There's quill scratching in the background. ]
After you have liberated their halla, you should ask them.
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Rain traps. As if I care about these things. I am telling you about a real problem. A trouble. An issue. And you talk about rain traps. And you are writing. I can hear it. The irritating scratching sound your handwriting has. You are heartless. If you stabbed your pen in your heart to punish yourself, nothing would happen, because there is nothing there.
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[ A pause. ]
Freddie would agree with me.
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[Freddie would. But Freddie isn't here to say otherwise.]
There is very little marvelous about you. [well] All right, that is a lie. But at the moment it is so hard to marvel, because you are not taking me at all seriously. As if anyone would bother to read a paper written about elf ears.