Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

The animal pens seemed terribly unimportant at the moment. Why did Eodwine keep going on about them now? There would be plenty of time tomorrow for the animal pens. What time of day was it getting to be anyhow? Surely dinnertime must be drawing near by now - except Léof wasn’t hungry, now that he thought of it. Thirsty, though. Or not so thirsty… the ale just felt good. He took another long gulp.

Rowenna was approaching the table. When had she left in the first place? Eodwine was standing. They had just sat down! Now he was talking: "I suppose we ought to get back to the animal pens, then, if we can get Léof out of his ale cup!" So soon? Best to finish quickly then. He threw back what was left in the cup – surprisingly little, only a couple mouthfuls, and pushed himself to his feet. Or tried to. How had his legs gotten so shaky? And why was his head swimming so? He gripped the table until the world steadied out. “I’m comin’,” he said. “Though I don’t see what’s the big hurry… Good stuff, this. Woulda had some long before now if I’d known that.” Were they listening? It was suddenly very important to him that they understood this. “M’ pa drank something awful. Never thought anything he liked could be good. ’Specially not ale, made him terrible. Worse to m’ sister, though.”