"The gods must hate us, Uncle Sven," Willam looked a little scared to me. "That accursed poem has even followed us here. It's like it will follow us everywhere forever.

"It does seem that way, Willam," the Duke sighed as if the universe indeed hated him. "Of all the love poetry in the world, why did the gods gift this spirit beast with the knowledge of that particular poem?"

I tilted my head in confusion. It struck me as a very nice romantic pean to the poet's lady love.

* I do not understand your objection, Duke Sven. Of all the human poems the gods inexplicably put in my head, it was certainly much better than, say, the one that goes: 'My vegetable love should grow vaster than empires, and more slow. A hundred years should go to praise thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze. Two hundred to adore each breast: but thirty thousand to the rest. An age at least to every part, and the last age should show your heart.' *

"Oh, merciful Matadee!" Duke Sven shook his head in despair. "Not that one too!"

"We should change the subject," Willam said with fortitude. "Spirit beast Fuzzy, plague us no more with such dusty verses!"

* Do you not care for what is considered the apex of romantic verses? I thought your kind was greatly invested in this sort of literature. Why else would so many of your race write such things? There are so many of them. I find them rather inspiring and only wish other cougars had the intelligence to appreciate them so I could share these with others of my kind. *

"Oh please, stop, Fuzzy! This is unforeseen torture," Willam pleaded. "It would be best if you would just forget..."

* Ah, yes, 'forget not yet.' How did that one go? *

"No!"

* 'Forget not yet the tried intent of such a truth as I have meant; my great travail so gladly spent, forget not yet.' There's another verse. That one is rather tame. Why don't you care for what is considered the best of all human literature? What can be more praiseworthy than poems of love? *

"I think the royal family of Nordweg is cursed," Sven collapsed into himself. "As sad as her death was to us, it was such a relief that Princess Sophie no longer moped about the palace quoting all those soppy love poems at anyone who stood still too long to escape her in her love poetry phase. It really was horrible."

"Terrible," said Willam.

"Interminable," pronounced Sven.

"Sticky," said Willam. "That's what Andray called it." He looked at Owl, and with solemnity said, "you are lucky, sir, not to have had an older sister stricken with love poetry disease." Sven nodded in agreement.

"But I like that poem," Wren protested, "the one titled 'To his coy mistress,' especially the part where the poet accuses the lady of making him wait so long that she would die first before she ever gave in to his advances. That was quite funny. How did that go: 'Your quaint honor turn to dust; and into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace.'"

"Yes, I liked that one too," Cloud Eye said, startling the rest of the two-footeds. He and Blue Fox had come in several minutes ago but chose not to disturb the course of the conversation. "That's one of the ones that Father Garshom uses in the human literature portion of his class for adventurers. You will find most young elves know that particular poem, and find it amusing, the lengths to which a young human male will go in trying to get a female to bed with him. It's very different from how elves behave."

"How do elves do it?" Willam just had to ask.

"Would you like to spend the evening with me in the private room, Wren?" Cloud asked.

"No, I would not," Wren stated.

"Oh, alright," Cloud Eye nodded once. Then there was a long silent pause.

"That's it?" Willam finally broke the silence.

"Well, of course, it is. The lady said no. I'm out of luck."

"You don't try again later?" Willam asked.

"Why would I?" Cloud looked a little confused. "That lady said no. That's the end of the matter."

* That's one of the reasons Father Garshom includes that poem in his class for adventurers because elves do not understand or appreciate how humans approach human courtship. It's important that they do lest some poor human gets unfortunately wounded or killed in an elvish duel over a misunderstood insult to an elven lady who said no and meant it. *

Willam's mouth made an unsounded, "Oh," as the point of the lesson achieved comprehension in his adolescent brain. I was happy he understood this before he possibly undertook a campaign to pester Wren. Elvish princesses were not appropriate targets for the courtship of human princes.

"So what are we going to do about these two?" Cloud Eye asked the rest of us, referring to Prince Willam and Duke Sven.

"Cat Rider said the first thing that needed to be done was taking care of the Wyverns," Wren replied. "And he asked these two to give some thought on how to rescue his father from the Regent. That gives all of us several days, at the least, to give these and associated problems some thought."

"Cat woke up?" Blue Fox asked.

* Long enough to make his wishes known, and also to ask for a pain-killing spell before being magicked to sleep. *

"So how did everyone get on the subject of love poetry?" Cloud Eye asked, innocently curious.

"It's all her fault," Duke Sven pointed an accusing finger at me.

* No, not exactly. It was you, Duke Sven, who asked me how I knew about Nordweg and church law. *

"My apologies, you are right," he scowled in frustration and then sighed greatly. "At least it was just love poetry you recited. It could have been scripture, Holy Mother forgive me."

* Well, I do know the entire Holy Writ of Matadee as well as the Scriptures of Weasilli. *

"The Scriptures of Weasilli are heretical." Duke Sven said without thinking.

"Maybe for humans," Cloud Eye pointed out in a cheerful and helpful manner, "but goblins follow Weasilli as their patron god, and elves revere Matadee, Weasilli, and Enleel."

"Still," the Duke circled back to his original question, "why did the gods put all that in your head, Fuzzy? It doesn't make sense to me."

* I have a theory that I might be a repository of all the things a crown prince should know, including how to court a lady and write a love song if needed. *

"Music?" Willam was incredulous.

* Young man, I know so much on the subject that if I had hands, I could play the lute, the flute, the wood-reed pipe, and all the keyboards including the carillon. *

At the sight of Willam gaping, I could not resist the temptation to tease him. * I even know a representative selection of love songs. Should I mind-sing some for you? *

His look of horror was all the response I could have hoped for.