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'Berrick Andrail, at your service.’
The voice was loud to his left, diverting his attention for the moment from his concerns.
Wenda had answered his questions as she could. Thanking her, Egil tucked away what he had gleaned from her news. He would have to think hard on his intention to head north to the village above the withered heath. If her words be true, and he thought they were from the fear he’d read in her eyes, then perhaps the village would no longer be there at all.
He shrugged off his dark thoughts for the moment. He was seeming safe here, in the Green Man, he reasoned. Its strong walls and bright fire would keep back those beasts, that being, he hoped, that Wenda had spoken of. That and the presence of a number of stalwart warriors it seemed were gathered for the while here.
‘Egil Glitterfist,’ he said, nodding to the man who had greeted him. He scooted over on the bench on which he sat. ‘There’s room, here. Come, sit down.’ He was amused that the man had stuck his hand out at him; it was not Dwarven custom to do so. But being a trader among a number of different races, Egil wiped his own hand quickly on the thigh of his breeches and offered it in turn to Berrick.
‘Pleased to meet you, Master Andrail! What business brings you to The Green Man, if you don’t mind my asking?’
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