[Envinyatar]

It was not that he was indifferent to custom only that it was so changeable as it met with time, and oft he could not recall which convention now held the stage. But he stood as Bethberry sat with him, inclining his head toward her in welcome.

‘Some wine?’ he asked, sitting down once again. ‘Or do you prefer something other?’ He reached out with his rowan walking staff and tapped a passing server. ‘Another mug of mulled wine, good sir. This evening finds me chilled to the bone.’ He inclined his head toward Bethberry. ‘And whatever the Lady desires, if you will.’

He opened his cloak, fumbling at the clasp of the leather purse hanging at his belt. ‘About the meal, and the bed for the night. I should pay you now, while I remember that you asked me.’ His fingers fished out a small handful of shiny objects.

A passing look of surprise crossed his face. ‘I find I have no silver coinage to give you.’ He chuckled, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘But perhaps these will do.’

His thick fingers pushed two small objects over the smooth wooden planks of the table toward her. Charms, their features picked out in the polished metal. A mearh of white gold, Nahar. And a small, finely wrought kestrel in yellow gold, its wings outstretched, hovering in an unseen wind.