The burly man at the head of the group grinned, revealing tobacco-yellowed teeth, and strode toward Garris.
The strong livestock smell coming from his wool vest seemed to awaken some deep-seated fear in Garris.
"Little Garris, why aren't you saying hello to your uncle? Did the leeches in the swamp eat your tongue?"
The burly man's booming voice brimmed with mockery.
Little Garris.
At those words, the representatives of the Seven Harbors Alliance nearly popped their eyes out, exchanging horrified looks.
The smile on Garris's face shattered completely, but he still tried to preserve the last scraps of his dignity.
He forced a smile uglier than a grimace. "Y-you... what brings you here? You could have sent word before coming to visit." He turned sideways, trying to steer the burly man away from Veylin and emphasize that this was a family matter.
But Golden Whistle ignored his cue entirely. He slapped a huge hand down hard on Garris's shoulder, sending up a human-shaped cloud of dust.
Then the burly man spread his arms and pulled Garris into a bone-crushing hug.
Thump!
Garris felt as though a charging ram had slammed into him.
The pungent stink of sheep and the sweat of a long journey forced their way into his nostrils.
He felt close to suffocating. His stomach churned, and he wanted to jump into the nearest river and scrub himself clean.
But he did not resist. Instead, he closed his eyes in resignation.
"...Uncle... Golden Whistle," he squeezed out through gritted teeth.
The burly man named Golden Whistle released him, satisfied. "That's more like it!"
His gaze landed on Veylin. "You're Baron Weilin Klein?"
Veylin nodded calmly and offered him a hand.
Golden Whistle did not shake it. Instead, he slapped Veylin's arm hard with his enormous hand, expressing goodwill