Upon recieving a small glass of ale and a bit of chesse covered toast, Nemair the elf removed himself to the corner of the bar farthest from the door and drank his ale silently. The bread he broke into bite sized pieces, then he arranged them all on the table in front of him.
Nemair was comfortable, he could feel the weight of his bow and quiver of arrows across his back, and his legs were comfortably stretched to the floor. He remembered many a time when he would sit in taverns, alone or with friends, what friends he had, but always it was a time to open his ears and listen to other people with their problems and to laugh silently with any joke that was told. This was his kind of life.
Out of boredom, the elf picked up a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. The flavors of the cheese were pleasantly mixed with the bread itself and altogether was a nice meal... now if only that bird up there will take the hint...
Oh well, its loss, he thought to himself as he popped another savoury piece into his mouth.
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