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Crabannan was sitting at the end of Leof and Quin's table and, without looking up from his plate, he watched from the corner of his eye as Coen directed the unsteady Scyrr back to their own table.
Satisfied, he slid the stag-horn knife back into his boot.
A year ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, and it was almost shame he felt now at having sat silent by. He took a drink and looked over at Leof as the younger man sat down, breathing quickly, but apparently no worse for the wear.
"Or you either, now. I hope they won't cause trouble for you," Leof was saying to Quin.
"You shouldn't take that kind of talk from them," Crabannan said. "It gives them ideas, and that lot already think they're above the rest of us."
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