"Oh, sorry, it's alright." The blue-eyed boy said to the other stranger, before Altim took the firewood into his hands and bowed before Borgrund. "Thanks to you as well." Tarts, huh? He'd be interested if it weren't for the load he was handling and if it weren't for the allure of lunch. Daror turned on his feet and came home, the dim light indoors offering no greeting, no person inside to welcome him. He unwrapped the wood and tossed some firewood in the fireplace, and the basket he placed on a table next to the meat he obtained from the butcher earlier in the morning. With a firesteel he got the fire going under the cauldron he had filled with a broth as he sliced and diced the vegetables with a short knife and added them and the chicken to the stew. While the ingredients were added, his steady hand mixed the soup, and his nose wafted the scents of a meal that was beginning to come together.