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Despite her tears of laugher, Bethberry caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She watched Gomen return to the kitchen to answer his mother's call and wished she had seen his stealthy, quiet approach rather than his departure, for she would have introduced him to the table. He was an old enough lad to begin to be able to converse with the patrons of the Inn and she knew he harboured wishes for learning how to develope storey himself.
But Saeryn's demonstration of the shahallion-like dance fired her interest, as did the confession of who the story referred to. Every storey tells a life, as she recalled an old staying, although who's life is not always clear.
"A brother and a sister do not always get along so well," Bethberry observed, hoping to prod Saeryn to tell more about the fate of the brother.
Saeryn, catching her breath from the wild dance, nodded her head with an agreement to continue, but before she could, a voice hailed everyone from the door.
"Bethberry, it's a chill day out. Have you got any hot cider for old bone?" It was Ruthven, the rag lady, come to visit a friend. Without waiting upon an answer, she hobbled as fast as those old bones would allow her into the Great Hall, where she took a seat beside the Innkeeper. "Have you been riding a broom, mistress? There's the scent of cinder about you." Yet her eyes sparkled as she spoke and she nodded towards the young woman, the tail end of whose dance she had just witnessed.
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