[piosenniel]

Balancing the tray on her left hand, held high above her head, Pio made her way carefully round the room. At each table she stopped, filling the empty tankards from the pitcher of ale or the empty cups with strong red wine from the bottle perched on the tray. A platter of warm herb and mushroom pasties, fresh from the Dragon’s oven sent its savory scents to hungry drinkers, and with a wink and a nod she left one at each patron’s place.

Her last stop was at the table of the flame-haired newcomer. ‘Talmérië, is it not?’ she asked, setting the tray down on the table. ‘Mind if I join you for a moment?’ Not waiting for an answer to either question, the Elf slid into the chair opposite Rie, and pulling a chair from another table close to her, propped her feet on it. She topped the woman’s tankard and poured herself a half glass of wine, cutting it with a little water.

‘Been a very long day, today.’ she remarked, her words somewhat muffled by a mouthful of half-chewed mushrooms and flaky pastry. She eyed the woman from under the cover of her long dark lashes, and washed down the last of the pastie with a drink of wine. ‘So,’ she said casually, relaxing back against her chair, ‘I overheard you say something about not denying us a good tale’. Pio motioned with a tilt of her chin to the patrons in the Inn. ‘Now all are settled with food and drink, will you not tell us something of your travels.’

It was less a question than a simple statement of expectation. She leaned forward, raising her glass to the newcomer. Bringing it to her lips, she sipped at it, and waited . . .