To the soldier’s table he said, “There’s enough here to buy everyone another round of whatever drink you’re having. If you stand down and honor the bet. If not, my friends and I can do with a bit more exercise to work up an appetite before we dine.”
The dark-haired man blinked rapidly, catching on just as fast.
“Oh indeed. My man here hadn’t killed in hours. He’s due for some invigorating head bashing and bone crushing.”
Said man played his part beautifully, cracking the knuckles of his gigantic fists and leveling a lethal stare at the table of would-be challengers.
The soldiers wisely took their seats again, mumbling beneath their breaths.
The dark-haired man commandeered a nearby table and three stools and waved enthusiastically at the barmaid.
“You resourceful truffle hog, you,” he said affectionately to the boy-man as the latter ambled over and took his seat.
“You really are a miracle worker, procuring us so many goodies. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“The feeling has yet to be mutual,” the boy-man muttered.
That was the last Wolfe deliberately overheard of their conversation, as the tavern’s boisterousness returned to previous levels.
A few of the soldier’s friends dragged him out of the way and into a corner to sleep off his defeat. Another soldier reluctantly stepped forth to hand over the wagered sword, dagger and crossbow.
And true to his word, the boy-man bought everyone in the tavern another round of ale, and wine and victuals for his own table.
Wolfe stopped listening, but he didn’t stop paying attention.
The boy-man and his friends were…special.
Though they wore unremarkable but finely-made clothes, they stood out like wolves among sheep.
Wolfe took note of this encounter. Something told him that this wasn’t the last he’d see of the trio.
Especially the elfin stranger with moon-spun hair.