some seeds. Using bits of parchment, twine, some water and a spell, she managed to arrange several magical herbs growing from little wet pouches. These sold even more quickly than the potions. She was already well-versed in each herb's uses, and was quite the little saleswoman. By the end of that day, she had a comfortable weight in her coin purse as it hung around her neck. She bought a nice dinner of mutton, mead and wovenbread for herself and Fred. The horses were quite content in their inn stables, as well.
Several people stopped to sit and chat with her over dinner, asking questions about her familiar, about her journey, and about the place she hailed from. Saure had never really socialized before in her life. She was much more prepared to talk to a wild animal than a civilized person. She held herself quite well, though, and before the night had fully fallen, she was laughing and carrying on with a group of dusty roadfellows.
"So, then, birds have dialects just like people do? For different parts?" A black-haired young half-breed asked her with genuine interest, and sipped his mead.
"Yes! Sometimes it's hard for members of their own race to understand them- like those in the Gunnlands, so I hear tell…"
A pale green-haired old man chuckled and puffed a breath, changing his countenance to that of a bushy-browed scowl. "Ot this paint, Ahm wundrrn if yerr rrreally a mahn, err joost a l'ttl gairrrl drrressed oop ahs woon!"
This produced uproarious laughter from the group. "Aye!! Aye, that's a Gunnsman if I ever heard one!" an orange-headed tan lad approved, wiping a mock tear from his eye.
Fred sighed from under the table. At least the raucous group had the consideration not to rest their dirty boots on him. He
