Locked.
Lamant's study door is seldom locked, but today, the brass keyhole mocks us. Brushing back his hair, Ser Maartenwitz clears his throat several times. "Master?"
Through the antique wooden door, Lamant's voice reaches us. "I'm not to be disturbed."
Huh? The tournament is just a few weeks away, and he won't even see us?
Gussie opens her beak to object, but Ser Maartenitz holds up a pale, skinny hand that reminds me of a skeleton prop for Halloween. Doesn't he eat? I know he does.
"Master, forgive me, but Gussie is here, and so are the beasts of the household. Gussie has a request for you."
Taking the cue from Maartenwitz, Gussie flaps loud enough to attract Lamant's attention. "Request to talk! Request to talk. Request quest."
She does every communication she can think of, dancing, squawking, and so on, in order to impress her seriousness upon Lamant.
In a pitiable way, she laments, "I miss seeing you, Master."
