[Belin]

In fact, Remdil was preoccupied, and thought nothing of the grey mare careening by in an absolutely careless and inappropriate manner, but someone else did. The smith, Battadan, rushed from his room (he had quarreled with his wife the day before, and had needed a place to sleep) and whistled to the horse, who stopped, perplexed, and gently ignored all urgings from her panicked rider. Dineniel sighed inwardly, stopped kicking the horse, and put on her most friendly and trustworthy smile for the man. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

Maybe it would have worked. It had worked before. But Battadan hadn't yet finshed with his series of indignant throat-clearings (he was extraordinarily loquacious, but he always had to work himself up to it) when Remdil returned, leading a horse that made the Elf's eyes widen involuntarily with admiration, in spite of her chagrin.

He stood still for a moment, taken aback. So..one of the thieves was there still, was she? Better and better. Suddenly businesslike, he turned to his red-faced client.

"Good morning!" he said politely. "How was your night?"

"My night, indeed!" sputtered Battadan. "What about my horse?"

It was his wife's horse really, and he saw his plan of reconciliation crumbling before his eyes.

"She looks well, doesn't she? Razawyn, how is she doing? Any limps?"

Dineniel, distracted by a half baked plan to ride off as quickly as possible as soon as anyone looked away, took a moment to realize that by Razawyn, he meant her. "No, none at all," she answered truthfully, doing her best to keep her expression inscrutable.

Battadan now included Remdil in his suspicious glare. "Doubtless," he said dryly, "but the question remains, how did my mare aquire such a treasure as a Razawyn? I'm sure I've never seen one like it near her before, and I must say that my notion is, we were quite well off without."

Dineniel bristled. Remdil grinned. "You paid good money to stable your horse here, did you not? Did you imagine we'd simply keep her standing here, rotting her hooves, as likely as not?" Remdil knew almost nothing about horses, and he suspected that the smith knew a good deal, but perhaps he could brazen this out. "We exercise them all every day now, you know."

Battadan snorted. "You mean to say that this girl is one of your grooms?" he asked scornfully, glancing at the girl in question, who looked nothing like a groom.

"My cousin, Razawyn, come to learn the trade. Do you remember my cousin Tharniran?"

"No."

"Well, this is his daughter, come back to town, since my uncle never found anyone to take over the inn, and he grows old, you know, Battadan."

Battadan ran an eye over Dineniel's elven beauty. "Your cousin."

"Yes." Remdil stared back at the smith, not giving way. Eventually the other sighed.

"Just give me back my horse."

"With pleasure. Razawyn!"

Dineniel reluctantly slid off the horse, and stood next to Remdil. "I'm not your cousin," she whispered indignantly.

"Of course you are. Now shut up," answered Remdil, seizing her by the arm and leading her back into the inn, only pausing to let the vastly amused groom take his horse. A thief to catch a thief, as they said.