Wench work (Day 1)

She delivered two coffees to regulars Dawn and Opal, who chatted loudly about the fetching lad hanging round the crumbling tower on the riverbank.

“I thought him a knave, carrying on with a sword and armor, real warriors are the Rangers, stalking through the trees.” Opal complained. “Turns out the sod was our young Lord of Yamshire, Agustine Von Yams. What’s he think? He come to ride against the Molthuni? A boy of nary twenty winters. We need that Lord Commander of the Rangers, not some sniveling boy in his father’s armor.

Dawn retorted, “aye rangers be blessed, but Moltune won’t fall to our forest fighters. We need real armies, steel columns marching down the county road out to crush the Molthuni. Opal, ain’t none of my sons come back alive from those Rangers, they’re fighting a losing war, only a matter of time.”

The two women sat in a grim silence, then Opal said, “thank you for the blonde roast, with double water right?” She asked but knew from years of saying it that Havilah would not forget.

“We’re old bats, but what of your generation Havilah, how y’all wains react to this conflict?”

She smiled, resisting the urge to tell her she was not a wain, indeed she was made of over 23 winters, all hard fought. Instead she swallowed herself and said diplomatically, “in truth, I’ve not thought of the war much, just my poor mama, sick as can be she is.”

“Oh, wretched darling, our prayers are with you and your mother. May the Gods watch over her.” Dawn sympathetically said, having left a 23 gold tip.