Sonrik smiles at the merriment that is surrounding him. He loads some kegs onto stands, and hoists some boxes around for the proprietor that had befriended him. He stops to rest, sitting on a box and wiping his brow, amongst the eating and dancing around him.
As he looks at the gay halflings, his thoughts drift to darker placer. He thinks again of fair Thel’Lorean and the death of Kendrian, and how blissfully ignorant these folk were of the danger that they were in. Sonrik wishes that he were older, a more experienced warrior, capable of defending these lands. But alas, he was young, and small in the scope of things.
At length, Sonrik stands, and looks at the table to his side. Grabbing an apple, he winks at the barkeep and goes back to work. Tomorrow, he must be a servant of the Twins once more.