"Aye, that I shall do." Epsilon stood to get a pint of brew and a bowl of food. Back at the sill, he ate ravenously, without regard for courtly mannerisms. It had been many days along the road since the last town and hot meal. Many long, hungry days, and the Warfarer's belly was anxious to be filled.
After many a belch and much smacking of lips, the beef and bread were all gone, and Deldric was supping at the last of the gravy with a tilt of the platter. Epsilon munched the last of the cheese and thoughtfully sipped at his third horn of beer.
"Ahhh," sighed Deldric Soldwin's son, replacing the licked platter atop the table. "That was a most righteous belly full, Sir Warfarer. I thank you again."
"No need, citizen. Now give me the news of these parts. What have you to say?"
Deldric sat back, wiped at his greasy jowls with the hem of his borrowed cloak, and hefted his own ale to his shining lips. After draining the horn to its last drop, the forester belched and sat back to pat his bulging stomach. "What have I to say?" he repeated. And again, "What have I to say? Too much, it seems. More than you want to hear in full, but not enough to save you beyond the Great Barricade. And, though my mouth was busy with other work, you may be sure that my mind has mulled that very question many times this e'en."