“Hrm.” The wizened old merchant tapped his yellow beak, his oaken brown feathers emphasizing the tan shadows around his eyes. Red and contrasting sable robes were wrapped around his form to keep out the chill as he contemplated the situation, eyeing the table between them, strewn as it was with weights and a measure, a map detailing the local towns and the roads between them, several coins and, for some unfathomable reason, a stuffed teddy bear. Shortbeak eyed the doll evilly, as if blaming it for the interminable migraine these meetings tended to be. “No sense giving you a discount on something you’re not likely to sell. Hang on, I need to go check something.”