His weariness over all that had happened had kept him more in check than his patience, in truth, but gods least fortunate, he did not have the strength to deal with how quickly the cobbler seemed to jump from crocodile tears to sly insults to comradely jokes - or how deaf he seemed to be to the bard's insistence that a brief conversation on an early spring meadow between strangers did not constitute the sort of friendship the cobbler seemed to assume existed between them.
Are seemed to almost... crave? the humiliation of being shamed. It was an unsettling thought, and one that had the bard straightening and shaking his head with a faint frown at the way Are rambled on, making little in the way of sense. "You don't need to be a warrior," he said tiredly. "Just... be a good man. And perhaps a good cobbler, if that is where you skills and interests lie. That is all that matters." He pushed himself to his feet, seeing that Are intended to stay - and that the eavesdropping he had hoped to do on the local reaction to the fall of the barrier and the change in all their lives would continue to be impossible with his current company ensconced at his table.
Ah well.
"Good evening to you, son of Jorm... and, for what it is worth, good luck," the bard bid the cobbler, scooping the strap of his harp onto his shoulder and heading out into the night. There was much to do before the sun rose again, and last minute plans to lay before he and his friends braved the new woods to the north, and not enough hours between now and then.
Are seemed to almost... crave? the humiliation of being shamed. It was an unsettling thought, and one that had the bard straightening and shaking his head with a faint frown at the way Are rambled on, making little in the way of sense. "You don't need to be a warrior," he said tiredly. "Just... be a good man. And perhaps a good cobbler, if that is where you skills and interests lie. That is all that matters." He pushed himself to his feet, seeing that Are intended to stay - and that the eavesdropping he had hoped to do on the local reaction to the fall of the barrier and the change in all their lives would continue to be impossible with his current company ensconced at his table.
Ah well.
"Good evening to you, son of Jorm... and, for what it is worth, good luck," the bard bid the cobbler, scooping the strap of his harp onto his shoulder and heading out into the night. There was much to do before the sun rose again, and last minute plans to lay before he and his friends braved the new woods to the north, and not enough hours between now and then.
