Dinner was celebratory. Cerkanst had dodged a possibly major upset, and Krow won them succor against Tamvost's accusations.
Chaparha broke out the wine.
A passel of children trapped Krow after the plates were taken away, wanting to know what the tournament was like. It had been an hour already, embellishing details about the opponents he faced.
He couldn't escape impolitely; the kids were the host's grandchildren.
Menrike stuck her head in the doorway, took a long look, then smirked at his predicament.
Krow narrowed his eyes.
'You'll owe me,' she mouthed as she gestured.
Tsk.
Kids these days.
But he was desperate. He nodded.
"Young ones," Menrike stood in the doorway, projecting all the maturity she didn't show at ordinary times. "Krow still has to pack."
Various sounds of protest answered that.
"If he doesn't pack," said one genius, "does that mean he won't be leaving tomorrow?"