She clenched her fists, breast heaving, and almost shouted, "You think Cormanthor stands so splendid and mighty that none can touch us? How so?
Our lords strut and sneer and tell tales of what heroics their fathers' fathers did, when the world was young and we fought dragons barehanded
moon in and moon out. And our sons boast of how much bolder they'll be, and can't even down a flagon of tripleshroom without falling over!
Every year the axes of the humans nibble at the edges of our fair forests, and their mages grow stronger. Every year their adventurers grow bolder,
and fewer of our patrols pass through a season without losing blood!"
[...]
"Really," Duilya said, laughing uneasily [...] "I think you indulge in wild fancies overmuch, Ithrythra - as usual. Cormanthor endangered?
Come, now. Who can threaten us? We have the spells to turn any number of barbarians into - into more mushrooms for the making of sherry!"
She laughed merrily at her own jest, but her mirth fell away into thoughtful silence. She whirled around to confront Phuingara for support.
"Don't you think so?"
"I think," Phuingara said slowly, "that we gossip and prattle the days away because we don't like to talk of such things. Duilya, listen to me
now: I don't agree with everything Ithrythra fears, but just because no one speaks so openly, or we don't like to hear it, doesn't make her wrong.
If you didn't hear truth in her words, I suggest you kiss her and ask her very nicely to repeat them again... and listen harder this time."
