Borgrund and Morris felt an equal surge of relief as the man refused the Mystra and asked for firewood. Bor wrapped the firewood in a plain white cloth to hand to the man. Then, he took the silver coins and smiled sincerely - a good, honest, deal. "Thank you sir, and take care."
Bor noticed the man rapping at the wood of his cart. "Something to eat?" he grunted. "Ye can find Derrick's stall over there. All the city folk love him for his pork tarts or something." He pointed a tattooed finger towards the fat, mustached man proudly chatting up a large crowd from behind his stall. He spoke in a loud, clear voice as more people descended towards his story about finding the secret ingredient of his newest creation in the forests of Othea - for the second time. Bor wished he could go and enjoy one of Derry's tarts and listen to one of his outlandish yet charismatic tales, but he had a business to run. He went back to counting his silver coins.