Finian leaned his elbows on the counter, a grin upon his face as he saw three people come in the Tavern. Two boys (it was too bad that they were boys as they probably would not be too interested in the Tavern's ale, the finest there was as his sister exuberantly told all the guests who came into the Tavern) and a woman with a dog.
The two boys looked hot and tired and one of them was helping the other into a chair. Wheeling around into the kitchen he went to one of the many cupboards and rummaged around the bottles. There was some fine wine left but two boys would not be interested in that either he supposed, a bottle of stuff that smelled very nasty (which was probably a bit of Bethberry's medicine), and, oh yes, here it was. Some of last year's cider.
He took the bottle, poured the glasses full, and, with the bottle tucked under one arm, he strode towards the boy's table and set the glasses and bottle down. "A bit of cider for you boys," he said.
One of them was badly burned. A cripple no doubt. Shame. The boy could have been strong and bold. But he seemed to have a cowering look, a look of fear flitting through his eyes.
"Excuse me, sir," said the one who wasn't burned. "I have no money."
Finian rolled his eyes and said, "If you don't drink it it will languish in that old cupboard until it will be of no use to anyone. Everybody pretty much orders ale or a bit of wine. In fact, you would be doing me a great favour if you would just finish it for me." He shot a grin at them and then made his way to the table which the woman with the dog sat in the shadows.
"What can I do for you miss?" Finian asked. Gesturing towards the dog, he added, "And I am sure that Ĉdhral can find some scraps and a bone or two for your dog if you so desire it."
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