Mayen was returning from the Chicken Troubadour tavern in the company of Eliadoriss and his father. It was too bad that both Amaley and Molvendraft had to leave, or rather he would have liked to experience a meal with them and Soren in same time. Part of being a wayside peasant meant that everybody knew each other and socializing at a meal often made invitations wider. One could invite you, and then you would offer to invite a friend while visiting the one expecting you. People did not lock doors at home, every single person was trustworthy. Sure, strangers did pass through the village often, and theft was not unheard off, but it was not as frequent as one living in the city would have believed.

-“Never would I trust for trust’s sake alone and leave my door unlocked at night,” had said Amaley, “not knowing who could intrude. I wish Mildoyest could be more like Gimvault in that regard, but I myself would not dare it.”

Locking doors felt like unhospitable to the adolescent and his father, but they knew very well Amaley had the right of it when inhabiting amongst just too many people to know them all. Part of refusing to steal was to be known by anyone already and not wanting everyone within the same village to look differently at you. Here, one could rob and be still some simple inhabitant of the city for more than half of the population. Of course, some thefts were of higher consequence and made the evildoer’s name known from the northern gate to the southern one.

Looking over his shoulder, he could still see the tavern, but not the son of the local lord anymore, nor his wife. He was unsure if he would see them again. Part of him felt so, relying on family ties which on one hand linked him and his father to Soren and Eliadoriss, and them to the local lord’s family. He wondered if eating with the son of a lord could mean he had actually shared the same table with the old nobility.