[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had returned to his seat in the makeshift mead-tent, sitting beside Falco. It had taken longer to gather everyone from their farflung and rather busy-bodied places than he had expected, but now they all drew near. It was just before noon, thought it could not be told from the sky.

Here was Degas, sauntering in at the rear of the little group, looking more pleased with himself than one had a right to. Eodwine smirked and shook his head just a wee bit.

There was Kara with a tray filled with mugs.

"Gather round! Gather round!" Eodwine cried. "Sorry I am that no fire can be built under this burnable roof, but the weather is not chill though wet enough. Gather close and we'll warm each other like cattle in the barn!" Eodwine caught mild winces from both Marinel and Falco. "Sorry, but you shall find this lord's speech still cluttered with the flotsam of his youth."

Kara had set the mugs on a nearby table and gone back to the kitchen. Now she returned with the ram's horn.

"Pour for our guests first, Kara," Eodwine instructed, indicating Marenil and Linduial. Soon all those gathered who wished for mead to soften the dryness of their throats, had mug in hand, filled from the horn. "Before we start the tale afresh, is there any news to be told that 'twould be good for all of us to hear?"