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us all evening. I've seen him. The Inn-keeper saw it too, didn't you Habi?"
The Inn-keeper nodded. He flushed, his bald head and already florid complexion turning scarlet. His waist-line was the result of too many years of sampling his own stew and his temper was even less appealing. He dried his beefy hands on a filthy dish-towel, his face a scowl matching Divin's. "He has. Seemed mighty interested in what you had to say."

Divin sneered. "An' we're supposed to believe that he doesn't understand what we're saying? That's sun-spiders if you ask me. It doesn't make a lick o' sense. Why'd he be listening to us talking if he didn't understand us?"
The minstrel looked back and forth between the speakers, an obviously bewildered expression on his face. He looked to the Inn-keeper for help, but there was none to be found there. The greasy man was just as much part of the problem as Divin. People in this village did not like outsiders much, apparently. It was a feeling that seemed prevalent in this area, at least by the minstrel's experience. Every town had its own way of dealing with outsiders, and that was what the minstrel was, from his green cloak to his harp, cradled in the crook of one arm.
The minstrel stood up slowly, trying not to attract the attention of the arguing men. He did not want this conversation to turn to violence, if he could help it. He edged subtly backwards, towards the door.
"Hey, now! Where are you off to?" Divin demanded, grabbing the minstrel by the arm with a beefy hand.
In a flash the large man was pinned to the floor, his arm twisted up behind him. The minstrel was suddenly kneeling with one knee pressing into the middle of Divin's back and one hand on a dagger at the man's throat. The harp was still held lightly in the other arm. The minstrel's expression was calm and the dagger was still and unwavering in his hand, hair-breadths from Divin's thick neck.
Divin's companion and the Inn-keeper stepped back, eyes wide with astonishment, and more than a little fear. The minstrel, just as quickly as he had pinned the unruly Divin to the floor, arose fluidly and slid his knife back into a hidden sheath in one of his boots. He quickly and carefully gathered up his few belongings and the last of a meal he had scarcely touched, wrapping it up tightly in a cloth from his pack. The three men stared as the minstrel tossed a few coins on the table and nodded to the Inn-Keeper before silently gliding through the door.
"Well, I'll be," Divin said, breathlessly

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