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I usually travel alone, because not many go where I go. I have traveled with others before, she wrote as she ate her soup. It seemed to be some sort of vegetable stew, with fennel added. I play the pipe, the fiddle, the accordian, and the piano. If I can ever find another one of those she wrote, wishing she could put emotions into the impersonal letters on the slate. And you? Do you two travel alone?
She frowned as she focused on a woman in a ranger cloak who was sipping a drink and staring around the room suspiciously. Was that a knife she was reaching for? But the woman's hand came up empty. Her gaze continued to roam the room, and symestreem did not miss the fact that she was sitting with her back to the wall, not far from the man absorbed in his tea.
Who is that over there? she mouthed to her companions, as they were still reading the slate.
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