"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."