The King of the Domes looms large over his guest. “Identify yoghurt yourself.”
“I’m— I’m the new Mayor of Nox Islia. I came along to establish— for formal—“ The King of the Domes reaches for her. “Incorrect. We met, a thousand years ago, on the Half-Pipe Moon of Knurt. We counted centuries together. And now you’ve entered into my subaquatic Eden, to finally destroy me.”
“I’m 37,” a shaken Mayor Nynke says.