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I'll get over it just need to be dramatic first1

A glass globe on the varnished desk suddenly lit with orange light. It was bright, like the sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil. The light darted and bounced against the curve of the glass, toward Annon, as if it were a little bee stinging in rage.

Tyrus scowled with annoyance. “Be still,” he muttered and fetched a dark velvet rag to cover the globe. “You are angry and rightly so. I owe you an explanation. I was attempting that when you began spitting at me.” He glanced over some of the other globes, which also started to flicker awake with light. He whistled a low tone, and then began to warp it into a tune, a haunting yet soothing melody. He glanced at Annon and then scooped something up from the table.

Tyrus held up the golden hoop. “You are not the only one who has known a life of pain, Annon. I was raised in an orphanage here in Kenatos. My sister brought me here as an infant to earn wages scribing languages. My brother…to be honest, I'll get over it just need to be dramatic first tumbler I would rather not even talk about him. I know about loneliness and unfulfilled hopes. I overcame them, and I have prospered here. You can even give me some credit in choosing your mentor. Now tame your feelings. Master yourself. We do not have much time, and you need to understand something. You told me that you know of beavers and woodcutters, but what do you know of the Romani?”

Annon struggled against his feelings, for he desperately still wanted to lash out at Tyrus. Sweat trickled down his ribs as he battled to tame himself. Irritation clung to his voice. “Everyone knows of the Romani. They run goods between kingdoms, except for Silvandom. They are worse than thieves.”

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