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"You hail from Erebor, Master Dwarf? Indeed? Then we may have met before, for I am from Dale - though I have not been there in many years," said Crabannan. He shot a brief dark look back at Erbrand, just to ensure that the fool was making ready to clout him over the head. No, he was just standing there, glowering - evidently he was less a fool than Crabannan had thought him. I almost wish he would take a swing at me, thought Crabannan. It'd be the last thing he did for a while. He wasn't sure how he had expected Erbrand to react, or what he had been trying to accomplish by needling him. In fact, he almost began to regret it. He turned back to the dwarf.
"Nain, in the town of Dale, there is - or was - a cooper, an old man with black hair and the disposition of a firecracker. His name is Crabannald. Do you know him?"
Nain hesitated for a moment, seeming unsure. He searched the recesses of his memory.
"Or have you at least heard any news of him?" Crabannan seemed strangely interested in this old barrel-builder, and he wasn't paying the slightest to Erbrand now. Erbrand was taken aback for a moment, catching what seemed to be a note of genuine feeling in the tall man's voice. Not scorn, not anger, not cynicism, but genuine selfless interest in another person.
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