The Golden Perch Inn

[Noinkling]

‘Don’t you?’

The little girl’s question invited an affirmative answer. But he thought perhaps he should first acquaint himself with Taffy and Seren’s parents. Miz Sandybanks had the very same look on her face he remembered his mother had when he and his brothers had overstepped her sense of proper social interaction.

Skirvir stepped a little closer to the family, nodding his head to Lily first and then to Madoc. ‘Let me introduce myself, goodmaster and goodmistress. Skirvir, I am; son of Skjald; from the Lonely Mountain, east of the Misty Mountains. My cousins and I,’ he went on, pointing to where Bívor and Bávor sat, ‘are traveling westward to the Blue Mountains, seeking some family of ours who are said to still live there.’

He pointed at Taffy, then, smiling. ‘I saw your son sitting on the step of the inn, carving some little beastie from wood. We struck up a small conversation. I’m also a carver, though my materials are gems. Your son has a steady hand and a good eye for detail for one so young, if I may say so. Anyway, to make a long story short, I did indeed promise a story to him, about the creature he was carving.’ Skirvir grinned at Seren who continued to look at him expectantly.

‘And of course, by extension, I would be more than happy to share the story with Seren. That is . . . if this is agreeable to you both.’

[Lilly]

Taffy gave a pleading look at his mother and crossed his fingers behind his back as insurance. Mothers could be quite funny in their decisions he knew from experience, and oft times not in a comical manner. He could see her sizing up the Dwarf, his looks, his speech, his manners. And if they were found wanting she might just order her two children off to their room and the give the Dwarf a polite, but quite firm, dismissal.

Seren, on the other hand, could barely contain her eagerness for her mother to make the ‘right’ decision. At a sharp, quick look from Taffy, though, she had squelched the whining protest she was about to make. And instead shifted from foot to foot impatiently.

Time stretched out in a long sticky stream, or so it seemed to Taffy. His mother had turned slightly to speak low with his father. Taffy held his breath. He could hear his heart beat loudly in his ears. Then, with a relieved little whoosh, he exhaled. Time had resumed its normal flow; his mother was turning with a smile toward Skirvir and making the introductions of herself and her husband.

A few quick words to both the children...Mind your manners now! Be polite to Master Skirvir!...were given. And received with hurried nods of affirmation as Taffy and Seren took hold of the Dwarf’s hands and prodded him toward the door.

‘We’ll stand you to a pint after!’ Madoc called to Skirvir’s retreating back. He waved a hand to the trio. ‘Nice folk you meet here at the Perch,’ he said, pulling the chair out for Lila to sit down. He reached into his pocket and fetched out his pipe and pouch of pipeweed. Soon a small cloud of smoke drifted up toward the rafters. A contented smile played on his lips as he looked about the room, his glance falling fondly and often on his dear, sweet wife.