Jaym'row:
The ruffian snorts. Then suddenly, his tone changes to one of suspicion. ”Has that tree always been there?” You hear the sound of crunching footsteps and prepare for discovery when a shout rings out from the other end of the yard.
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Jaym'row: His interlocutor snorts. ”If your father wants to bed a beauty, there are plenty of whores available of varying prices and quality without crossing half the realm.”
Jaym'row: ”None yet, sir,” replies the ruffian.
Jaym'row: ”So how goes business? I hear the Redbeard winery had a bumper crop this season,” says the rough one, a hint of sarcasm in his tone giving away the absurdity of making small talk in a clandestine meeting.
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