A painting of Amberdrake. Well, he's pretty enough, I don't doubt one exists— or so I'm told. I'm really not much judge of human beauty.

[But Amberdrake was famously attractive, that was true, and his profession tended towards prettiness, in any case. You didn't need beauty to be a kestra'chern, to be sure, but sure it helped... And here he's gone and made himself sad, again. Ah, White Gryphon! He misses home. Skan sighs and leans forward more comfortably, so that he can both rest his shoulders and loll his head sideways against the comfortable cushion of Viktor's bedding. It's an awkward enough pose, to look at, but not uncomfortable: he wants to rest.]

Why don't I settle in to stay for a while, and you can tell me all about it.