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Once more, the intervention of the Halfling skewed the whole current of emotion in the room. The creature amazed Manawyth. This was no smaller, tree-rousing Wose that fed on human blood...though admittedly it seemed to have a penchant for a good rare steak. No, Master Falco Boffin was beyond any of the foreigner's expectations, and he stared and he stared till he found himself, to his own surprise, laughing.
"Of your kindness, you have me taught...manners," he conceded with a free, wide smile.
It changed the stamp of his face-neither uncertain nor desperate, nor defiant even. There was much genuine mirth, of a sardonic sort, to be found in the lines of the Dunlending's mouth. He tore his wide eyes...eye...from the small, rotund figure to answer the Eorl at last.
"I answer ye in truth, sir, since ye ask...things...unloaded, without...weight. I served a Chief who...was stricken, yes?...at the Hornburg, and came away from the battle with the few...the few who left the many dead...young was I then, so young..."
He paused.
"Of the trials of Dunland a bard only is fit to sing, and it is...right that they be told in Dunland's own...tongue. I stumble in the Horse-Lord's voice. There is a harp in the hall? With a harp understanding will come easier, know ye not a sound of our speech."
Manawyth was aware he had avoided answering the Eorl's first questions again. But he was not sure if he could at all, without music to help him.
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