Foundling
Little could be discerned from her manner, which was always placid and reserved.
Master Szatanya’s chair, more sloped stool with pillows and brightly colored embroidered scarves thrown across the seat, was simple and elegant with no back at all. She sat, palms on table, meeting the intense stare of the Magister who sat across from her in his high-backed, unadorned chair of maple.
Master Soush sat in a simple and sturdy chair with his arms folded and wearing his perpetual frown.
Master Gregory was pensive and fidgety, his slight frame lost in the too large chair he preferred, his mind racing, calculating, analyzing.
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