So, on weary legs, she slipped into the dining hall ensconced in High Reaches. Stone rose high and broadened with wood finishes that tied life and style into an otherwise drab, militaristic space. Clusters of riders, often unfamiliar to her, gathered at snatches of stools or tables. Forks clattered, knives cut, conversation sounded its casual din. The atmosphere bolstered her spirits and her dragonet's.
What're we doing here? We're gonna get something to eat, right? We better get something to eat! I'm so starved I could eat my own legs off! Zhuchath kept up admirably by waddling, though her thought suggested discontent with Valinaux's strolls.
Tough it out. You won't starve to death here. Besides, a little wait makes the food taste better.
V'aux, as she now called herself, stepped into the heart of the space with only half her attention paid to her destination. Food was ever on her mind, but people were their own form of nourishment. And as a twanging sung out from one of the more comfortable corners in the hall, V'aux found herself inexorably weaving between foot and chair and table to find the source. Snatches of conversation slipped by in her search — Thread horror stories, dragon feedings, inconsolable gossip about someone else's dragon care — but subtle music held her attention far more than plucky responses. As she stepped over an overturned stool, she finally caught sight of the source.
She discovered an older man with his attention paid in full to his song. Crow's feet made their tracks along his eyes. His body looked rusted for the ruddy patches that decorated him. To V'aux, he looked the type to tout a sense of humor after seeing half the world at play. Good enough, she decided, and she excused herself to his table.
The boisterous woman sat down with a resounding thump before casting both tired arms atop the table. "Hey, Good-Lookin', what's good to eat around here?"
Thaliawen
i thiiiink that fixes it