“Ah am hopin’ ye don’nae, then Ah’ll die comf’rtable,” she cackled.
“Y’er aff yer heid! Ye’ll pro’ly outlive aw us,” he smiled warmly. She waved to Fearchar and Eoin as she headed down to the docks and along a street that bordered the bay.
Fearchar stood in the street, absorbing a bit of the sun that was peering out between clouds. For the first time, Eoin got a good look at the man. Dark taverns never were a great places to gain a true impression of a person. He was several inches shorter than Eoin, and about just as broad in the shoulder, lending him a thicker rectangular build. He was predisposed to a muscled slimness from constant active work. An archer’s bracer protected his forearm and soft leather with fur lining sufficed for cold weather shoes. His auburn red and hunter green great kilt declared him to be part of one of the more powerful clans on the Isle. Fearchar’s brilliant freckles showed up more obviously on his pale peach skin in the bright sunlight. Dancing eyes were a marvelous shade of the stormy north sea. The deep red dread locked hair Eoin had noted in the tavern was a stark ginger out in the open.
It was a crisp morning, now that the fog had lifted. Fearchar wrapped his great kilt about his shoulders and turned to the man in the massive leather cloak. “Commeon, we’ll grab ‘rselves a bit to eat ta take back. My lass’ll be hungry. Di’ye ‘ave any luggage?” Fearchar turned back to his employer.
Yes, Eoin circled the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and flicked his other three digits up and down.
“Right, nothin’ big? Or d’Ah need ta ‘ire a coach? Mark usually runs the horses here, but I could see if Ben’ld hitch up f’r a ‘alf,” Fearchar eyed the man wearily.
No, not that much, Eoin waved him down. The market? Eoin pointed up the street to where the market had last been hosted.
“Seein’s ye seem ta ken where ye’re aff ta’,” Fearchar motioned Eoin to proceed him. The smell of fires, clatter of livestock, and bargaining lilt of little old ladies made it difficult to miss the market in the tiny village.
Eoin swept up the street at a quick clip, forcing Fearchar to keep up with him. It had been so long since seeing home.
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