Iestyn looked up from his work. The jolting of the wagons were a constant, the rhythym to which his heart beat any more, and the blood pulsed through his joints. Now it seemed that the caravan was stopped.

This did happen occaisionally, though the last time it happened was when Iestyn himself joined the caravan. Now he unfastened the little steel clamp that held his thongs in place on the side of the wagon, and rolled up the long fine strands. Be damned if he was going to find his best aluta thongs being used for some idiot cowcatcher's bootlaces. Or worse. He tucked the work into one of the roomy pockets of his coat, and slid down to see what needed to be done for the horses.

"This is where you get off, Rideros." The caravan-master's voice was gravel with nothing to sweeten it. "You eat too much, you work too little and you're as fussy as a woman over those scraps of leather. We've carried you for as long as we're going to. Welcome to Rhy-din, Rideros." He swept a beefy arm in a half-circle. "Get your things, and get out."

Iestyn blinked slowly. "Eat too much?" Acid rose in his throat. One meal a day did *not* sound all that much to him. He worked just as hard as the rest of them. This had to be something else. "Look..I can work harder. I can eat less." He held out a hand. "All I need is another chance. Don't dump me here. I don't think even the rats want to stay here."

Marcos chuckled, a sound that ended in a salvo of coughs. "Sorry, Rideros. I can't keep you. You're not a bad sort, but you want too damn much. And you're unsocial. You see how it is. I have to move on. You'll find another caravan soon enough." He fished in a pocket and flipped Iestyn a handful of silver. "There. Make something pretty for a lady with that. Sell your bits and scraps." He turned to go.

Iestyn stared down at the silver, and then he bent and picked it up. "This is less than half of what you owe me." He straightened. "Are you going to give me the rest?"

A wheezy, raspy laugh was his only answer.

There were chance meetings....and there were meetings by chance. This was neither. she quite literally tripped and landed in his lap.

It'd been one of THOSE days. It was amazing, miraculous and more than a little frightening, the things people brought with them when overnighting somewhere other than their own (or a friends) home. Indeed, she'd found more bizarre items of clothing, arcane books, coins, lamps, lanterns, pens, quills, feathers even...pets...than she'd ever thought to expect.

But the pig was more than beyond her expectation. A tiny, perfect, pink, oinking porker. That fit in the palm of her hand.

Now those raised on farms will tell you that pigs aren't the cute and cuddly things that the Pig-Embargo tries tirelessly to make them out to be, seeking to draw the attention away from the tastier aspects of piggydom (you know, bacon, sausage, ham...) and focus instead on the softer, gentler side of their porcine nature. Soft, affection laden grunts. That fetching way they had of tilting their piggy little heads to one side, ears perked as they oinked their adoration. Cute enough to make little girls squeal and beg their poppas to get them one of their very own.

So maybe that's why the previous tenant had been trying to sell miniature (magical, she was sure) porkers as pets. Obviously they hadn't sold well, she'd cleared the room out both of stye-funk and the nibbled upon remains of several little piggies. But one had been a sneaky little piglet that had hidden behind (or under ) something. Had startled her when she knelt down to clear the old ashes (and more remains of a pork roast) from the hearth.

It had looked so cute, so helpless...had leapt into the pocket of her apron and she had decided on the spot that a piggy-pet was a good thing. And she'd been thinking of a good name for the little thing when she was coming down the stairs, the pig cupped 'tween her palms. "So, are you a girl piggy or a boy piggie."

No one told her that pigs have teeth. Very sharp teeth. Or that they didn't much care for being held upside down to ascertain their gender.

As her foot hit the the floor, the pigs tiny teeth sank into the heel of her hand.

She squealed.

the Pig squealed.

The pig went flying.

Ael stumbled...tripped over her own feet and landed in the lap of a man sitting there, waiting for his dinner.

"My hand.." and she seemed more surprised at being man-handled than irritated. at him, at least. "it bit me!" And she shifted to glare at the pink little culprit as it galloped away to hide. To lurk and wait for another victim, she was certain.

She looked piteous, examining her wounded and now bound hand then sighing, her shoulders lifting and falling with the movement before she looked up at her rescuer. "Thank you," and a pause as she studied his hatchet hewn (nice...sculpted....lean...) features. "I'm Ael," out of pure habit she said her name slowly Aaay-ehll. She tilted her head to one side, pale hair slipping, sliding to half conceal her features a moment. "Let me offer my thanks properly, dinner?" Her brows went up.

She could smell dinner. Roast. Pork.

"It is to be from me," she lifted her chin, though she was smiling at the courtly little gesture. "Payment for the healing you have offerd, for rescuing me from that nasty beast."

Maybe it was her imagination,but she could have sworn then, that she heard a smug little 'oink' from near the settle.

"oh, I don't do much cooking. Here," she shrugged and then smiled. "There's others who do that, related to some that work here too, y'ken? And it can be a wee bit touchy, if anyone thinks that someone else is edgin' in on their territory." Her smile was cheery and she turned back to face him the rest of the way. "But the food is good. Hot, filling, tastes good," her smile widened a bit and she nodded as if to confirm each word.

"And ye be finding yerself in the land of Rhydin, in the city of Rhydin, and this is the Red Dragon Inn. If it's passage across the sea yer lookin for, you might have luck down to the docks. There's always ships of some kind coming in or getting ready to go somewhere." She twitched the fingers of one hand (the good hand) in one direction.

She laughed softly as she signaled for something to be brought out, holding up two fingers then sitting back down (in a chair, alas, not his lap) and waving for him to sit as well. "I am one of the chambermaids, not," she nodded to where the girl behind the bar was flirting with a dashing (very dashing) looking man who had a well dressed, well fed and well born look about him. "Not one of the girls who does the servin. Too clumsy, aye?" she had dimples; they showed as she smiled again.

The food was brought out, and it was as she'd said. Filling, good, and hearty fare. Crusty, hot bread, honey, two tankards of cider and deep bowls of a thick, meaty stew. And there was plenty of it, the slip of a girl who had brought the food out told them. And more, too, since there were fresh fruit tarts being taken out of the ovens at that very moment.

She laughed; "Em....I am from western Rhydin, and chambermaiding is safer for one such as me than tending bar is," she leaned closer, her tone dropping to a confidential whisper. "I"m a wee bit clusmy, ye ken. One, mebbe two glasses a week is nae so bad. But two, three dozen in a day," she shuddered and shook her head. "The city is...very..." she paused, her gaze going distant. "There's so many places, so different. The docks, warehouses, the places where nobbut the well guarded or good fighters go. Cut-throats, fine ladies, grdens, slums...it's a city," she said solemnly. "And no, my family is far from here."

She nearly choked at that. Laughing, that was. "'Twas indeed a pig, Iestyn." she said his name just as carefully as he had said hers, the care offered a thanks for his consideration. "A wee pig what some mage left in his room. And no, I willna even guess the why of't." She laughed aloud then. "And as to my family, it causes no pain to ask. They are father, mother and younger brother. I came here to find different things, different experiences." She reached for her mug and took a swallow. "And for you?"

"So," she was nibbling at the last bits of the tart on her place, reduced to sweeping up the last of the crumbs with a forefinger. "you fled the life of a kept husband for salt mining or hauling, leather braiding and here ye be. Welcome sir," She leaned, her eyes twinkling. "To Rhydin. Where any and everything is possible, whether ye wish it or no." She held out one hand, palm up, in a greeting gesture.

She listened, laughing softly by the end of it all. "I'm like the least magical person here." she hung her head a moment, letting her hair curtain her face for a moment. "So that rules out the Princess and the Dragon enchantments," though she pretended to sigh a little at the latter. "And if I'm t'be thrown into volcanoes, no one has said a thing to me about it. Maybe it's meant to be a surprise?" she tipped her head to the side.

"I should the chance to call you friend, Iestyn. "

"Then if you would oblige me I'll test that notion now." He rose, and took from one of his many pockets a knotted string. "Can you stand and put your arms out to your sides? Don't worry I won't do anythng improper. Certainly not here, and especially not when we're both sober."

He pulled what looked like a thin book from his pocket, and opened it, to reveal a wax tablet, and stylus. This he set down on the table, and then he gestured. "Make the sign of a T, and then I'll have enough room."

"The sign of...." she gave him an incomprehending look for a long moment then, still bemused, stood and stretched her arms out, feeling ever so faintly ridiculous. If she were wrong...and he'd wanted her to draw something on that wax tablet she'd feel the fool.