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Crabannan looked at Lithor, a little annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of a rather emotional ballad. It was jarring, and he found himself regarding Lithor an amount of dislike at that moment, though he never had any quarrel with the soldier.
"Livening up?" he muttered to Erbrand. "That's what we were doing."
Erbrand frowned and nodded. "Looks like someone hit the ale early today."
"Lithor is aware, isn't he, that there have already been 3 or 4 fights between the Scarburgers and the newcomers? We don't need to provide opportunity for 3 or 4 more." Crabannan paused, and, reflecting, realized that he never would have said that a month or two ago. Who had he become? He looked around the room uncomfortably, suddenly feeling out of place. He glanced at Erbrand. The man was tuning his instrument and pretending to ignore Lithor. There was no response from Athanar's men, and even the sounds of eating died away as they stared at Lithor. A crow croaked madly somewhere outside the Hall, then faded away.
On an impulse, Crabannan leapt up from his chair and covered the distance between himself and Lithor in two swift, ungainly bounds - like a great, ragged raven. Standing tall by Lithor, he raised his voice.
"Come now!" he laughed, gesturing to the crowd, "Are there no men among you? At least do us the courtesy of a swift 'nay' if there are not!"
He clapped Lithor on the shoulder and laughed again, long and loud, a feeling of elation rushing through him and out to his fingertips. He had no idea what he was doing.
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