Taliesin opened his eyes wearily. He had fallen into a pleasant sleep amidst the soft bustling of the Inn, but his stomach, protesting loudly at its emptiness, had awoken him. Goldwine was nestled in his bony lap, purring softly. With a smile, the old man petted the feline and quietly put his paper and ink away.
His knees creaking and popping, he rose to his feet and stretched. His muscles had grown stiff from their constant sitting position, and his back ached a little. He sighed. Such was the doom of an old and wizened warrior. His cheeks grew pale, and his eyes glazed with memory. He shook his head. The time of the orcs and suffering many had endured was over.
A pretty young woman stepped up to his table and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, sir? My name is Aedre.”
He noded, and said, “Taliesin.” Then he smiled at her and said, “Yes there is, oh maiden fair.” He gestured to the empty table, and continued, “Bring food to laden this table bare, and drink to quench our thirst. Please, quickly bring some milk, for Prince Goldwine must be servéd first.”
Taliesin beamed at her and then plopped back into his chair. “Thank you, milady,” he added.
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