Six
“Golf,” I say to Ryn, “is possibly the most boring human sport in existence.” I walk across the deck and flop onto a lounger beside him. “People spend ages trying to get their feet the right distance apart, their knees bent at the correct angle, and the proper grip with their hands, all so they can whack tiny balls into the distance, which they then have to go in search of when the darn things don’t land where they’re supposed to. And I had to spend the entire morning watching this! Through faerie paths peepholes!”
Ryn crosses his legs. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell his golfing buddies anything about his encounters with the fae kind?”
“Nope. I even stayed to observe their lunch, but the conversation remained firmly in boring territory.” I stare at the canvas umbrella above my head. “
