"'Allow?' and no shaking of the hand? You must take these men lightly, Saptheth. For an Eastern Man who's been a prisoner for the better part of mountain knows long, you seem a bit reluctant to make cheer and friendship with those who now extend a hand toward you." Branack said with a sense of wisdom, though the show was destroyed not a moment later from quite a loud burp from beneath his beard that echoed within the Tavern. 

He had seen the man Baranor go his own way, and young girl who he had befriended now making her way up to her quarters for a rest. He was far more concerned with the cake and drink in front of him, and the humming of a tune as he tried to keep his own spirits up and away from this daunting task before them. Not daunting for the danger, mind you. But daunting because it represented a great deal to his people. He felt as if Durin the Deathless had given him this sacred task, and in a jest made him apart of a group of men and not hard fighting Dwarves. 

"It matters little though," he continued. "For soon, all of us shall need to learn to fight with one another, or die alone. For our adventure strays upon the edge of a Knife, and soon our battles will forge us into a group whether we are showing kindness and kinship now or not."
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