With a hearty giggle if not a guffaw, Ruthven found herself warming to Oin's song as she had not to Hearpwine's elvish lament. That had lacked the kind of regular measure and beat which excited her pulse and thrilled her aged bones. While she could appreciate the keening of the lament, it had not caught her fancy enough to move her body.
But Oin's verse! Now there was something to join along with!
Her foot started tapping the floor in a pounding rhythm to match that of its metre, although her old muscles could not quite keep up a regular pace, if that had been needed. Rhumm dumm rhumm dumm dumm da dumm beat her foot and her head joined in, nodding in time. And then her hand unbidden picked up the beat by drumming the table, nearly, at one point, knocking over the tankards of ale and beer. She caught them in time before they toppled over and spilt the golden brews but in doing so she spied spoons amid the cutlery and plates strewn over the table.
Ruthven picked up two spoons and placed them in her hands, bowl of spoon facing bowl of spoon. Soon she was able to rattle them together in rhythm with Oin's song, and the longer she went on, the larger grew Oin's smile as he told his song. He had an appreciative audience, something he had not expected, nor, even, experienced before and he found himself quite liking the sensation. If gave him courage as he went on.
Finky, meanwhile, saw a means to persuading Oin to stay longer at The White Horse. A grin spread across his face as he began to mark the beat with his hands, a clap for the first beat and then a second and third rap on his thighs. Dumm dha dum. Dumm dha dum. The children, away at the end of the mead hall with Bethberry, looked up from conning their slates and began to nod along with the rhythm.
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