The man Byrin has just dumped soup on does not look like he appreciates it, nor does he seem to appreciate Byrin's attempts to clean his shirt off, probably because Byrin's mostly just smearing the liquid into the fabric with his hand.
“Sorry!" he exclaims. “I wasn't watching where I was going, that's my mistake, I'm—"
The man slams his fist down onto the tabletop, making Selmas and Gwynfor's bowls rattle. He smacks Byrin's own dish out of his fingers, sending it flying across the tavern.
Byrin looks a little put out by this. “I wasn't done with that."
“You are now," the man says. His voice is rough and deep, exactly what Selmas would have expected from him. “What do you think you're doing?"
“I was going to ask for seconds," Byrin mutters. “But I guess I won't."
“Your firsts ende
