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At Falco's request, Bethberry casually looked at Ruthven and gave her a wink, although whether any of the other members at the table saw it was unclear. Ruthven pulled out her tinder tools.
A small tin box, first of all, with a tight lid in which she kept her touchwood. Then a small horn, not fancy with carvings nor engravings nor silver work nor gold, but large enough to hold flint and steel.
"You can avail yourself of the kindling in the great fire, Falco, if you wish," interjected Bethberry, pouring a tankard of ale for Eodwine from the large pitcher which the scullery maid had brought. She paused, setting the pitcher down on the table and hesitating for a moment to let the halfling contemplate his choices. Then she offerred Eodwine the tankard and turned to Saeryn. "Some also for you, lass?" she asked? A nod signified yes and Bethberry turned with solemn concentration to the pouring of another tankard.
Falco eyed the horn and tinder box. For all their simplicity, they suggested beauty and function, an economy of purpose married with art.
"Did you see the sycamore trees closely, Falco?" Ruthven queried him. "Where the trunks hollow, large?" She held her tinder box in her hand lightly, while toying with the horn.
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