"You're so silly!" Imoen giggled, staring up through the leafy canopy at the passing clouds and sighing wistfully at the transient rays. "A tale about pugtails and hobgobs! Heh!"
"'Tis true, I swear;
"the maiden crowned with auburn hair;
"eyes of fire, gemstone bright,
"soft cheeks, a lily, rose lips;
"pinky-white; ne'er beheld a flower so fair,
"petals so tender, a stalk so firm; a bloom, a blossom,
"I'll fancy, I'll wager, you never did see,
"Her slender neck, her arms and feet,
"of thighs–"
"Pinky-white? You really are making this up!"
The young bard flushed sheepishly, "Artistic license."
She kissed him softly, "Silly."
