Music and Stone (Closed)

[The Rambler]

Henry stretched out his arms over his head, reaching up towards the dusky sky above as he ambled down the dirt-packed street. He dropped his arms back down, the butt of his staff thumping against the ground as he did so, and looked around. The small village, an extension of the mining town of Stonevale really, was quiet, peaceful. The early afternoon heat of the day had faded, and most people were inside now - it was around the time for an early supper from what he remembered. Too late for the activities of the day, too early for things like the night-market, but just right for someone to wander around without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Henry winced slightly and resettled the pack and fiddle-case on his back, moving a hard edge out of his hip. That done, the musician paused and rolled his staff back and forth in his fingers as he thought. He was back here at this time somewhat accidentally - he had decided to make a trip back to the orphanage he had grown up in to visit, and to bring some trinkets from his travels back. A few of the other children he had grown up with were reaching their birthdays, and he wanted to join in the celebrations for them. They didn't know he was coming back though - he didn't send many messages back in the first place, and he had decided to make this a surprise visit.

It was a little strange though - the village was abnormally quiet. Even if it was at the peaceful hour between day and night, the sun still setting and painting the sky in darkening purple hues, there should still be some people out and about, rushing to take care of their last few chores before the day ended. The musician began humming under his breath as he pondered on the heavy silence over the village - like an air of anticipation, it felt something would be happening.

He shrugged that off - it was likely in his own head, from his own plans to surprise the kids at the orphanage. Henry was prone to showmanship after all, so seeing a situation that was building to a burst of activity and motion was probably just a flight of fancy for him.

Sure enough, the night began to come alive quietly - a few shops that he knew were parts of the night market, places where goods that didn't do well under the harsh light of the sun, or for people who worked into the deep of the night to keep things running, began to open up their windows and doors as he moseyed down the dusty main street.

Henry chuckled and waved to a few of the shop owners who recognized him - it had only been a few months since he set out wandering, nowhere near long enough for the people that had known him for most of his life to dicey what he looked like. Greetings were exchanged - and one old lady, who ran a bakery, waved him over interrupting the flow of his night. Bemused, he headed over to see what she wanted.

He was, almost predictably, loaded down with some loaves of bread. “You're heading back home, aren't you? Then you can take these over there so dear Matilda doesn't have to send any of the young’uns over to pick these up. Go on now, shoo!” The lady gave Henry an amused smile as she waved him off, his load now much heavier than it had been moments ago. With a laugh and the scent of fresh-baked bread in his nose, Henry resumed his walk through the streets.

[Yvonne]

Placing her crossbow away behind lock and key was more difficult than she had first thought it would be. Her feelings about the weapon were paradoxical. She hated using it, felt guilty every time she fired a shot let alone injured someone but, found she didn't want to let it go. The crossbow was a memory of her mother - thinking of her mother made her feel innocent and safe, even though she wasn't here. Leaving her crossbow behind welcomed feelings of apprehension, isolation and vulnerability. She reminded herself this was temporary, she was storing it for a while because it caused others to think her dangerous and that wasn't the impression she wanted to give today.

The black-skinned dwarf stepped out onto a cobblestone, closing the door to the inn behind her. She appeared out of place as she often did, walking the Stonevale dirt-road in heels and stockings, her skirt swishing against her knees. The Aleran let her straight-black hair down, ran her fingers through it suggesting nervousness and began to gather a ponytail. She twisted the tail around itself while continuing to walk, securing her bun with a tie and pins. There, that should give a better impression, hopefully one of wealth and class.

Yvonne had never found her way here before, only arriving yesterday. Stonevale was a long way from home. Even during her travels with her mentor they'd not journeyed this far south-east. It was a quaint little village that reminded her of Kachuck - in its own way, the clinks of pickaxes and the clanging of metalwork - and these familiarities helped her to feel better. Perhaps she could carve out a nook of her own here, buy a humble house, start a modest business - become an important part of this community. The sunlight was too bright though, despite setting. Perhaps not. All of that was as they say, wait and see - or as the grey dwarf preferred to say, hurry and see.

Yvonne always had a good reason for arriving in a new place and once she had arrived, found her feet, she looked for ways she could contribute to society. Over a year ago she'd asked her mentor how to be taken seriously. How to convince those around her to stop treating her like a piece of trash. He replied with words of wisdom she will never forget. Make it so everyone is in your debt. Sometimes a great opportunity to help many arises - be there, take it - but even in quiet times her mentor had stressed the importance of keeping yourself slightly too busy, lest upon task completion your time is whisked away with procrastination. He explained that once it's obvious you've done your utmost to help others, continue to do so - important members of society notice. You make connections with people of influence, hopefully they're like-minded allies - not rivals - and before you know it your name is bandied about for mayor.

It was a likely story. One she didn't believe.

No, mostly the trader had come to experience a night-market in a smaller-scale environment. She'd grown accustomed to the sprawling cities of Ettermire and Radasanth. Would a market by night still be profitable with a smaller customer base? Product choice would be critical - people have different needs at night than during the day, rest, shelter, warmth and entertainment. That's why inns, taverns and brothels succeed. They provide for the needs we all have.

Wham! Oh gods!

Yvonne - clumsy daydreamer - collided with someone carrying an armload of bread loaves, knocking a few loose of his grasp. This, however, was the perfect time to be short, and she caught them both, one and two, with more time to react than most. Who would have thought being short had its uses after all?

"I'm sorry! Forgive me, I wasn't watching where I be going. Me eyes, they be sensitive ta tha sun," she explained, about to gesture to the goggles she was wearing, realizing she was still holding the bread, his bread. Sheepish, Yvonne offered them back with both outstretched arms.

"I didn't mean ta knock ye about mister."

[The Rambler]

The night market was definitely coming to life as Henry walked down the street. More and more people were going about their business, albeit at a slower pace than was seen under the full light of the sun. The musician smiled and nodded to the people around him as he walked, taking in the peaceful air of the nig-

Thud.


The impact had been rather sudden and unexpected - Henry had been humming a tune under his breath as he walked the street and nodded to people, so he had not heard any footsteps coming towards him. The musician had let his guard down - he was back in a familiar setting, and the footsteps that had approached him had been quiet, soft and steady, not the sound of someone rushing in his direction, so they had been lost under the music in his own head. He blinked and shook his head once as he looked around, trying to see who it was that had run into him - and then looked down as two of the loaves of bread that he had been carrying were thrust up towards him. For a moment he thought that one of the local children had run into him while they were playing, but children weren't exactly known for calm, peaceful strides.

Then he processed what he was seeing. A short, stocky woman, with skin as dark as the night sky, and black hair done up in a bun, was holding up the loaves of bread as she spoke rapidly. Henry's mind ran back over what she was saying as she stopped to take a breath, and he blinked as he realized she was apologizing. Had apologized, rather, and was now holding the bread up towards him emphatically. The blue-eyed man let out a soft chuckle as he looked around on the ground, making sure none of the rest of his burden had been spilled onto the dusty path, then shook his head.

"Peace, peace. All's fair, miss. Ah, if you would?" He knelt down - he was still holding several loaves of bread, and couldn't exactly take the ones that she was holding out back. But on one knee, the pile of bread was low enough for her to easily stack the two that she had back on top. "No harm done to the bread, and the gods know the kids likely eat dirt raw, so even if some of the bread had gotten a bit messed up it would have been fine." He gave the dark-skinned - woman? Short teen? Dwarf, perhaps? - a bright smile. Her coal-black skin was definitely marking her as a foreigner to the region, but with Stonevale as one of the most profitable mines on the island nation, a lot of travelers came through.

It was a bit odd to see someone out here in what was essentially a suburb for the mining town, but not a complete rarity either. As he re-balanced the loaves of bread, Henry straightened back up and rolled his shoulders slightly. "There we go - actually. Hmm." He examined the woman for a moment - it didn't look like she'd run into his staff, but... "You aren't hurt yourself, are you miss?

[Yvonne]

Yvonne's first impression of the human man before her was very favourable - he was off to a flying start in her book. She had learned a while ago surfacers often react negatively when they're sideswiped in the street, which was why she was so over-the-top on the apology. In this busy life you couldn't impede momentum, not without causing a ruckus or having a tiff. This one gave a new meaning to 'respond in kind', his go-to utterances of peace, fairness and he wasn't finished, kneeling down to her level and smiling so brightly she couldn't keep the smirk from her face. His smile was contagious.

What? No criticism? No 'Watch where yer going, I'm walking here?' Not even a short joke? It was a pleasant change of pace. Yvonne returned the bread loaves she was offering to the top of the pile, without needing to stretch to do so, thinking she'd finally caught a lucky break. Any moment now he'd relent on the courteous routine and deliver a blindsiding quip. A 'Be more careful next time' at least. Nobody was this nice, this perfect.

She genuinely smiled, fluttering lashes as he raised his concerns for her well-being. Who be this gentleman and why have I not met him until now? "Oh, that be very thoughtful of ye mister." Be it too late ta feign unconsciousness? "I'm quite wonderful, thank ye. Ye be a dear for mentioning it."

The dwarven hybrid glanced down to herself to make sure she was, in fact, okay. She'd spoken on how she felt but that wasn't what he meant, the realization he was eyeing her for bruises came afterward. Yvonne nibbled her lip, straightening her back to appear taller, gently dusting her corset with her palms before folding her arms behind her. He be checking me out. Quick, look as pretty as possible. She crossed her ankles and met his examining gaze demurely.

Her mind a whirr of spiralling thoughts, she tried to process the things he had said, to keep the conversation going so as not to appear a fool. Kids! Kids. Of course a man like this was happily married and surrounded by ankle-biting rascals and rug rats. He'd even done the shopping, bless him, for his certain to be lovely wife. He was so thoughtful, the ideal man. That was a lot of bread loaves he was carrying - a lot of bread to feed a lot of mouths. Yvonne deflated ever-so-slightly.

"Ye must be a proud father ta many wee lads and lasses. How old be yer children?" Yvonne asked, giving him a curious stare. The mathematics didn't add up. She was certain he was no older than she, and yet, if each of those loaves represented a child or two he'd been a busy boy for a very long time.

[The Rambler]

The short, dark woman didn't appear to be injured, which was a bit of a relief for Henry. After dusting herself off she seemed perfectly fine, so he had relaxed a bit - their collision had had remarkably little casualty to it. When she started looking at him through her eyelashes one corner of his mouth started to twist upwards in amusement, only to halt when she deflated at some thought that crossed her mind. Before he could ask what it was she had pressed on - and he stared at her in blank shock for a moment before bursting into laughter.

The woman - he really did need to ask her name, now that he thought of it - was most certainly new to town, if she didn't know that a large number of the children that roamed the streets were from a local orphanage. The musician shook his head, his shaggy hair swaying around his face as he turned to wipe some of the tears of amusement from his eye on his shoulder. "No, no, miss, you've the wrong of it there." He chuckled again and tilted his head to the left, in the direction that he had been walking before their sudden meeting. "I'm not a married man, nor a father, a tad too young for that I think. This bread is for the children at the orphanage where I grew up." He winked at her.

"They're rambunctious little ones, and any time the shopkeeps here in town can see a way to avoid having the children invade their stores, they're happy for it. Beatrice, the baker, took advantage of my return to do just that." His trained ear picked up a faint sound, a tempo that was at odds with the calm of the night. The new tempo was chorused, repeat after repeat, making the blue-eyed musician turn his head in the direction of the sounds. He had a moment or two to process before he chuckled and braced himself, planting his right leg firmer on the ground. This was what he had missed before the dark-skinned woman had run into him, the sound of running, and this time he was not caught unawares.

There were three of them, with an older boy ambling along behind them, shaking his head. Three madly dashing, arms flailing, legs pelting the dirt, children, sprinting madly towards the conversing duo. Their attention was focused on the bread-carrying man, and when they got close enough to be heard - "HENRY! YOU'RE HOME!" - rang down the street, making a few people look in their direction. One kid, a young boy reached Henry first, and was halfway up the musician's back, hanging onto his travel-pack as he peered over Henry's shoulder. The other two, a young girl in a dusty pair of leggings and an over-long shirt, and a boy who had apparently lost his own shirt somewhere, slammed into the musician's legs, holding onto his waist and staring up at him. Or, perhaps, at the bread he was carrying.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were comin' back Henry? Mama Matilda didn't say nuthin' about you comin' back, and she would have yes she would!" "Is that bread for us Henry? Mams sent us and Lethro for the bread from Mrs. Beatrice, but if you've already got it then we can just go home with you and the bread! See, Lethro, we can do things too!" "Henry, who's the short dark lady? Is she your friend? Are you bringing her home to meet Mama Matilda?" The voices of the children ran over each other in their excitement. and Henry was shaking his head with a grin at most of it - though he did stop and turn to look over his shoulder at the boy who was hanging off of his backpack, staring down at the black-skinned dwarf.

"And where did you hear about bringing someone home to meet Mama Matilda, Theo? And no, this young lady is someone I just met, I've not even the pleasure of her name." Henry turned his head to look at the older boy, Lethro, who was apparently the person assigned to shepherd the energetic children that were holding onto Henry. "Hello, Lethro. She sent you to watch the kids?" The boy nodded, shaking his head at the antics of the children that had sprinted off from him. Henry shook his head and turned back to look at the woman. "Sorry about that if they're a little rude, they're still learning propriety." He grinned.

[Yvonne]

Much like this man's spreading smile and the way she smiled at the sight of it, his laughter was humourous to be a part of. She couldn't help but laugh right along with him. Whether it was how his laugh was a full body experience that jostled the loaves in his arms or the realization she had been foolish after all, they were in stitches together. He laughed with such vigor tears trickled down his cheeks, his reaction authentic and wholesome. There was next to naught he could do to save himself, composure relinquished with an armload of baked goods. Trying to keep it together, wiping the tears he could reach on his shoulder - even that attempt at regaining himself was comical. His mirth warmed her to her soul.

The human was kind enough to explain everything, once he could string sentences together again, filling in so many blanks and erasing her assumptions. Yvonne was thoughtful and fond while he spoke, the glint of her silver eyes inspired by his words. Not married, not a father. So, does this make ye available after all? Her thoughts reeled her in, back to the moment before she'd felt that subtle disappointment, to a moment of seemingly boundless possibilities. She chewed her lower lip gently, her coquettish smirk gradually developing into a grin. Aye, it does make ye available. Yer fair game mister!

Having eyes and ears only for the man before her, Yvonne hadn't noticed the rush of three kids about to waylay him until they were upon him. The fact they shouted his name to the high heavens further on down the street came to her later, like a resurfacing memory coming to mind. Henry. A strong name with a tender flourish. Its meaning be fitting. She turned the name over in her mind, finally breaking eye contact with Henry and looking to the kids at his knees with a happy giggle. Rambunctious ye say? Ye can say that again! They looked a ragtag and bobtail bunch, dressed in hand-me-downs and covered in road-dust, but those things lent to their appeal. From the moment she laid eyes on them she felt compelled to take care of them.

Yvonne remained quiet and tended to her over-loud thoughts, listening intently to the kids and their questions, flicking her gaze from one to the next and the one thereafter. She blushed at the words of the boy staring at her unabashed, although the colour would have gone unnoticed upon her black-skinned cheeks. Children knew how to skip past modesty with their honesty, getting to the point, ready or not here I come. The diminutive drow was nodding and smirking even as Henry was shaking his head, his expression telling her no, politely no you little rascals. They sprinted away, as quickly as they had come and she knew there was no keeping up to speed with that bunch.

"That be quite alright, dear," she spoke at long last, after the kid-whirlwind had come and gone. Her eyes chased them into the distance, toward their orphanage where she imagined they would gossip with their improvised family about the news. Their big brother was on his way home right now and he had a girl with him. Yuck! Henry has a girlfriend? Girls have cooties! Yvonne giggled at her own forethought, preparing herself in advance for how it was going to be. She looked to Henry and that charming grin, twirling her skirt left and right and rocking on her heels softly.

"Ye have a decision ta make mister," smirking and raising an eyebrow. "Be ye taking me home to meet yer mama? Or be ye planning ta disappoint those wee, little darlings?" She eyed him through her lashes, hoping to divert the embarrassment she was feeling in her chest onto him with her questions and manner. As far as she was concerned, he didn't stand a chance. His fate was already sealed.

[The Rambler]

Henry loaded down the three children and shooed them off, watching as Lethro moseyed along behind them. He shook his head slightly, chuckling under his breath - he had never understood why the somewhat sleepy younger teen was usually the one tasked with looking after the children whenever they had to go into town, but; oh, who was he kidding, he knew exactly why. Lethro was, for all his lazy attitude, one of the only ones the small kids would listen to, for whatever reason. As he watched the small group travel back, carrying the bread that had been his burden mere moments ago, he shook his head again with a slight twist to his lips, then returned his gaze to the short woman who had bounced into him.

With no armfuls of bread now, he spun his staff from the holster on his pack and leaned on it slightly, his smile growing slightly as he considered the short woman. She was acting coquettish, gazing at him through her lashes, while almost inviting herself along. Though he knew that it was likely prompted by Theo's question, so he wasn't particularly disturbed by it. Instead of answering right away he looked her up and down slowly, and let his smile crinkle the corners of his eyes as he studied her. She swayed back and forth slightly, the hem of her skirt dancing about her legs in the fading gloom of the evening sky, and he thought he saw the traces of her own smile and amusement as she watched him.

Well - he had grown up with several other people near his age, girls both younger and older than him, so he knew when one was trying to get her way without outright asking for it. He hummed a light trill, a rising surge as he thought of how to respond to her. "Well miss, the little ones have had to live with disappointment before, and excitement in its own turn - they likely didn't expect to see me back here for some months yet, as I'm a wanderer and a minstrel by inclination." He grinned widely at her, pre-empting any thought that he was turning her down. He had no reason to, really - he could easily afford to pick up some extra food to account for the increased number of mouths at the table, and the happiness of the children was rather pleasant to him.

"But, I suppose, they've gone and gotten their own hopes up, the little fiends, and I'm not one to deny them. I warn you though, Mother Matilda is a shrewd old woman who really does treat us all like her own children - or grandchildren, as the case may be. Now, if you're to be my escort for the evening," he winked at her, "might I be honored with your name? I'm sure you caught mine as the children came after me, but on the chance you missed it, I am Henry." He bowed low at that - and impishly smirked at her before taking her hand and kissing the back of it before letting it drop.

[Yvonne]

Yvonne was captivated with Henry's engaging conduct. She allowed herself to be acquired at the wrist, heart skipping a beat and stomach aflutter with the delight of butterflies. He placed a kiss upon her hand like a well-intentioned gentleman, complete with a bow as low as she was high - the attention trembled her at the knees. The diminished woman melted. Her psychological barriers softened. Neither did he overstay his welcome, letting her hand fall thereafter, leaving the infatuated hybrid with wistful thoughts of holding his hand again, and soon.

There was only one other man she'd met before, throughout her life which had treated her with as much respect. He was old and grey enough to be her father. Indeed, in many ways Abel filled her void in that regard, mentor to which she owed direction in her life, the momentum of her career. He had treated Yvonne like she was the most extraordinary individual he'd ever had the privilege of teaching, like she was capable of altering the course of history - changing the world - at least until he didn't. Her mentor had a lifetime to cultivate a gentleman's decorum. Even he had abandoned her because of ears and skin, in the end.

The connotations underlying Henry's word-choice hadn't escaped her sharp mind. Her mother was a prostitute whom had raised her daughter in a brothel. A faint awareness of reality originated in the back of Yvonne's mind - the realization drew her gradually back to earth like a child bringing in a kite from the wind. So there was the quip she'd anticipated much earlier, once she'd bumped into him. He was a real person who made the occasional slip after all. To his credit she'd forgotten to expect her feathers ruffled. The petite drow raised an imperious eyebrow, her mouth ajar with surprise. She'd already given him a free pass, expecting he didn't intend escort to be interpreted the way she understood it.

"Mind yer manners," she advised, amused. "Mother may have been an escort but she spared me her life." Yvonne's euphoric, starry-eyed expression had touched down to playful enthusiasm. She understood what that mischievous smirk of his was all about - he was a teaser, a man whom enjoyed deriving reactions from his actions. This was a game she could play as well.

"Ye want ta know me name?" The roguish woman blinked her eyelids, feigning a second bout of surprise. "Ye'd like that wouldn't ye?" A thin grin ebbed between her lavish lips, knowing her riposte would catch Henry flat-footed, unsuspecting.

"I think I'd like yer Mama Matilda by tha sound of it," Yvonne considered, reflecting, before walking ahead on her handsome friend, leaving him there. She flicked him a sidelong glance over her shoulder as she paced away, smirking happily.

"I'd sooner introduce myself ta her," she countered, her silvery elven eyes sparking with beguilement. "Are ye coming or are ye going ta stand there with that speechless look on yer face?"

[The Rambler]

Henry blinked a few times as the short woman's facial expression dimmed slightly at his words, and he frowned. He hadn't said anything - at her admonishment to mindhis manners he ran his last few sentences back through in his head and his frown became more pronounced, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

The musician's tanned skin paled as she told him her mother had spared her that life - and he finally realized why she had gotten.. dimmer. "Ah, wait, miss - my apolo-" But she was already moving past it, cutting off his chance to apologize for his fumble. She wasn't wrong with her next words, he would like to know her name - but if Mother Matilda found out he had implied, even accidentally, that someone was a lady of the night...even in his early twenties, he knew the shrewd old woman would happily tan his hide.

Henry shook his head sharply when the dark-skinned woman called over her shoulder to him, and he exhaled softly. Well, there was no help for it at this point, even if he did feel like a bit of a heel for implying she was in that profession. He'd have to make amends for it. He twisted his staff back into the holster on his bag and started walking after Yvonne, slinging his fiddle case around as he soon overtook her. He gave the black-haired woman a sheepish smile and shortened his strides so she wouldn't have to hurry to keep up, as nimble fingers unattached the case.

Soon enough, the now empty case fell back, hanging on its straps as Henry brought his fiddle up, and set the bowstick to the cords. He started playing as he led the way down the street, towards the large, slightly ramshackle structure in the distance that served as the local orphanage. The music was soft and light as he walked, and it was more to give him something to focus on with his hands than anything else. His fingers danced back and forth as he played, and collected his thoughts.

"I apologize for some poor word choice there, and I apologize in advance - the others at the orphanage are a mixed bunch, and some of them are.. Abrasive." Bright blue eyes slid sideways, down to the woman walking beside him as he strode down the path through the sprawling yard of the orphanage, through rusty gates that had seen better days. The orphanage hadn't been a mansion, no, but it had definitely been close in its heyday, a large, expansive building. Mother Matilda was the last of the home's original family line, and her children had died in the Civil War.

Heads began to pop up in windows, and shrieks of joy could be heard, muffled by walls and distance. Henry picked up his paceslightly, tucking his fiddle and stick under his arm as he reached the door and held it open for the woman, tilting his head slightly. "After you." He smiled gently.

[Yvonne]

Together they walked the road to the orphanage, Henry's fiddle in hand he played a delicate ditty while Yvonne hummed neatly in tune with his music. The last note strummed, the melody quietened to silence and the smooth minstrel decided it was the ideal time to apologize. Oh how the tables had turned. She was all apologies in the beginning and he had the choice between forgiveness and cruelty. It would seem the half-dwarf had the same choice to make. Would she forgive? Would she be cruel?

Henry held the door for her, allowing Yvonne the opportunity to enter the manor before him. His sense of chivalry was worthy of praise. A kind smile encouraged her inside, not a beaming grin anymore - still a little taken aback with her reaction she'd wager. As they stood in limbo - limbo between the outside world and the place he knew to be home - it was her turn to smile. A smile as warm and vivid as he'd bestowed with forgiveness. Her silver eyes flared wide with enjoyment and she started giggling, couldn't-- couldn't keep her laughter in. Gotcha. Yvonne one, Henry zero.

"Think nothing of it sweetheart. Me closest childhood friends were prostitutes. From those I've had tha pleasure of meeting I can say they be wonderful souls. Almost as wonderful as ye," she whispered, stroking his self-esteem soothingly. "I imagine ye love yer foster-brothers and foster-sisters dearly. We have that in common, a bond with family not of yer own blood. In a similar way ... three escorts were big sisters ta me." Yvonne touched the bard's elbow reassuringly, her gentle fingertips a momentary comfort as she passed through the doorway.

"Yer concern for me feelings be thrilling though," she said slyly, winking back at him. The dainty dwarf made her way into a wide open room, what looked to be a lobby or foyer. The orphanage was rustic inside as it was ramshackle outside, but there lingered a refined grandeur in the old building yet. You merely needed to remove your rose-tinted glasses to see it. Now that Yvonne was well inside the manor and felt safe - with the sun retired for the day - she raised her protective goggles from her eyes to have a better look at the place, resting them on her forehead. She was half-expecting a butler to attend her but she was out of luck there.

The Alerar-born contemplated Henry's second unnecessary apology, listening to all the sounds that resonated throughout the house, her elven ears detecting so many goings-on further inside. Yvonne could hear a bubbling pot in a distant kitchen. The clinks of setting cutlery and taps of bowls being placed at a table. She could hear the splashing of bathwater and soaked cleaning cloths slapping the water's surface. Girlish squeals of excitement, boyish laughter. The creak of the wooden door closing behind her as the minstrel followed her in. The drumming of little running feet on the floorboards a floor above her. They would be here to greet their big brother in five, four, three...

"We each work through our troubles in our own ways," the mixed breed justified for them, ever-aware there would be bullies. It was a house full of children after all. She was no stranger to mean children.