They sat around a table inside the tavern. The place was dark and musty. An ample-breasted woman in a dirty apron set a piping rabbit pie down on the table. Blodwyn asked for another loaf of bread, while Quill requested a second round of ale for the three of them. The thick coffyn crust cracked under the heel of Mykal’s spoon. Fragrant steam poofed into the air, escaping from the center opening.
poofed“Smells amazing,” Quill said, and lifted the pie, scooping gravy, rabbit and chunks of potato and carrots onto his plate, over his hunk of bread. “I dare say I was getting tired of crow on the mountain.”
Blodwyn piled pie onto his plate next, and Mykal went last scraping his spoon around inside the tin until every last bit dripped onto his plate.
“How are the horses?” Blodwyn bit off a pie
