Rirrym takes a sip of his ale and wipes away the foamy mustache left as he looks up at Rave. He gives her what he hopes is a warm smile. People seemed friendly here, and having been wandering the countryside for the past couple of months with only his horse for company, he’d come to appreciate the possibility of having another person to speak to. He just hoped he wouldn’t sound too desperate.
“I’d love some company, if you’re willing to give it,” he says with a slight lilt to his voice. He gets up and pulls up another chair for Rave, waiting until she sits down before carefully alighting back on the stool he’d claimed earlier. “I’m Rirrym, Rym for short. May I ask your name?”
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