Lannie's in a fine enough mood t'night, and glad someone is. Travelling man she's speaking to catches what I've to say on the matter of the hound and lays a hand worn down near t'death by time on his head. Take a second look at him, the height and weight of him in the dark of the room, and well enough I know what he is but think he's passing for less than that.

"Why good miss - mistress," and I smile quick and faint at that, looking back up at the man, "it almost sounds as if you have met my friend here." And asks Lannie for something hot for himself and Rollo. Rollo. Who is currently drooling on the man's pantsleg.

"I've habit," I say mild, shrugging, "of thinking there's far more sense than wisdom to be found these days, and guessing there's maybe no exception in hounds. 's he been with you long?"