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The silence that followed the end of Stamo's story was broken abruptly as the door swung open and a blast of cold air and winter flurry tumbled together through the open doorway. But only for an instant, before a tall heavily bundled man had sprung in and shut the door behind him.
'Blades and Barnicles!' he exclaimed, stamping the snow from his feet and shaking his great shoulders. 'It's cold enough to kill a horse! I beg your pardon,' he said, to the few pairs of keen eyes that turned his way at his rather loud entrance, 'and good evening to all of you.' He nodded and stepped forward. 'If I could beg for a place to stand by the fire - no don't worry about getting me a chair, I can stand. A mug of ale would be possitively marvelous, however.' He paused mid stride to thrust his hand in his pocket and drew forth a silver coin.
'Who can I ask for the drink, and pay?' he questioned, glancing around. Carr Dagnysson came forward, and the new comer broke into a grin. 'Here you are my man, run off and get that foaming pint. Thank'ee, thank'ee.'
He continued his march to the edge of the fire and squeezed into an unoccupied space. To his nearest neighbor, he turned and stuck out his hand. 'Berrick Andrail, at your service.'
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