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[Thrax]

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Eric sat down at the table and began to eat voraciously the plate of food Gelda had prepared for him. Her husband, a man older than her by about ten years named Bruce, sat across from him. He had barely picked up his fork to eat when Eric finished his meal. Bruce frowned. "You eat like a pig and smell like one, boy," he complained. "I have had just about enough of you. I want you out of here tonight," he snarled.

Eric looked up, startled. He tried, but failed, to mute a belch. "As you wish. I have found another place anyhow, old man. I was going to tell you."

Bruce, angered further by the slur, stood up and pointed to the door. "Get out now! And leave the ten coins for tonight's meal or I will call the guards!" he bellowed.

Gelda, looking on, shook her head. "You seemed such a nice young man when you came here. Now look at you... you won't clean up and reek of gods-know-what," she added.

"Rats and bullfrogs," Eric replied, pushing himself away from the table. "I took a job killing rats and frogs in the sewers. That's where the smell is from. Had you asked, I would have told you."

Gelda felt bad that she had critcized him; his odor being that of honest work. Bruce's expression did not change. "That doesn't explain the smell of ale and wine you waft from dusk to dawn! I know you spend your time and money at those accursed waterfront taverns! Don't bother denying it. That money could be helping us out, but no, you fritter it away on drinking and wenching! I know your kind, and I won't have that in my house!"

Eric pretended to ignore him. He went to his room, gathered his things and carelessly threw them into a backpack. When he came out, Bruce was seated, eating, faster than usual. Eric stopped and looked at Gelda. "Thank you for your hospitality. I won't forget it."

Gelda nodded and went about her business in the kitchen. Eric turned toward Bruce who had all but consumed a small bowl of pork and potatoes. "Despite what you think of me, and for whatever it's worth, thanks for taking me in," he said, dropping a small bag of coins on the table beside him. "There's a hundred gold coins. I intended to pay it to you tonight when I told you I would be leaving. Try not to think too badly of me," he said, then added, rather fondly, "old man." He walked to the door and opened it. The night air of Britain flowed in, carrying a hint of jasmine on the wings of its cool embrace.

Bruce looked at him. His heart melted. He wistfully recalled foolish days of his own youth and in so doing, his voice revealed a hint of compassion when he asked, "Where are you off to, boy?"

"The Salty Dog. They have made a room for me there. Fare thee well, both of you." He walked out, and without looking back, closed the door softly behind him.