At that, Nahan laughed, a harsh, crackling sound that Khroma found helplessly endearing.
“And I bet that went over great, right?”
“Oh, our trainer was furious,” Khroma said amusedly. “Lalema still had to run laps for an hour after practice. But Molpe remained.”
“How so?” Nahan asked, with a genuine interest in his tone.
“Lalema was rather embarrassed about the whole thing, and being teenagers, we were more than happy to take advantage of it. We all teased her about it, at first,” Khroma said, a touch wry, thinking back to those simpler days. “Giving little prayers to Molpe before we went out partying, or the like. But after a while, it just became a habit. Molpe was dance. She was joy. She was every small moment of happiness that a person could carve out of their day. And before long,
