It was loud in the tavern that night, voices raised in song and drunken foolishness. Thea, of course, was sat along with the boisterous occupants, her eyes bright with mirth and hand full of tankard. When the door creaked open and in walked her favorite Breton, she perked up, voice raising over the noise of the room, “Skip!” She shoved the person out of the chair next to her and waved him over entusiastically.














