Aranel’s song is well received . . .
‘A good’un!’ came the cry from a corner table. ‘Near brought a tear to my eye,’ said one of the old gammers sitting there, pipe smoke circling lazily above her grey curls. ‘Sets me to thinking of the time I left my family in Pincup to settle with my mister here.’ The old gal sitting to her right nodded her head. ‘Stings, don’t it . . . when first you leave, that is. Fair broke my heart leaving my family behind.’ Her rheumy eyes misted thinking on her own Ma and gammer as they waved her good-bye. ‘But life do go on, don’t it?’ she said, more as an observation than a question.
‘Oh, aye,’ came the general chorus of consent from her friends. ‘A cup then,’ said the third of the old ‘uns. ‘To old and new!’
‘And ale and pipeweed,’ cackled the first old gammer. ‘Enough to see us through!’
‘Another one lads!’ the trio called out. ‘Bend your elbows to your bows, fiddlers,’ they laughed aloud. ‘And less to your mugs!’
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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