Yara brings out a pitcher of ale and frosted mugs for the group, favouring them with a warm grin. "Ah, so what's the next move, then?" she asks, ignoring the disapproving looks she receives from her employer. Hob tries to get her attention surreptitiously, but the young barmaid avoids his glare. Eventually the old barkeep sighs and gives up.
"You'll all be the death of me yet," he mutters, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm.
The two dart players continue their game, laughing and rough-housing as they engage in a bit of verbal sparring.
Outside, the shadows lengthen and darkness encroaches. Hob moves from lantern to lantern, lighting them in turn with a torch.