Sean Laverty was perched on the arm of one of the chairs. Unlike the other men, he was cleanshaven. His eyes were clear leaf-green, his hair auburn. I knew he was against the technological leanings of the Tir. Of the group, his garb was the simplest. A T-shirt and jeans with a jacket thrown on top. In one earlobe he wore a dangling silver dragon. I wondered what Lofwyr made of that.