Falco's story
Falco grinned with delight.
"Oh no, now you have done it," said Eodwine, "asking Falco for a story. We'll be here all night."
Falco scowled at him. "You, my lanky lout, have no appreciation for a good story, even when you're in it!"
Saeryn couldn't help a grin of amusement spreading on her face, and covering her mouth with her hand, made as if to cough.
"Oh no," Eodwine rolled his eyes, "not that one."
"Of course, that one! It's the one that answers the lady Saeryn's question!"
Eodwine raised a hand in mock surrender and sighed hugely. "All right, all right. Just let me drown my wits first."
"Your wits have been drownded since before I ever met you," Falco retorted. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes! In answer to your question, lady Saeryn-" the hobbit stopped to take a long pull from his ale, and then took a deep breath.
"Here we go again," Eodwine mumbled.
"I saved this poor wretch's life."
"Oh! Did you!" Saeryn exclaimed.
"That he did," Eodwine said. "And he will never let me forget it. I have heard him tell the tale more times than I can count."
"It's a good tale!" Falco insisted.
"And grows with each telling," Eodwine commented into his mug.
"It does no such thing! Now, before my ungrateful cohort interrupts yet again, it all began one fair summer day back in the Shire...."
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