Whatever, it wasn’t Handy’s concern. He excused his way past the craftsman and made his way to the front. He was keenly aware of dozens of eyes upon him, judging him in his turn just as he had hundreds of others before him. Before long, he stood before the disquietingly equine judge, shifting uncomfortably in his cloak and winter clothing. The judge just sat right where she was sipping out of her stupidly large cup of what he presumed was coffee, going by the smell. As the quiet lingered as she placed the cup down, she shuffled some papers summoned over from the mountains behind her, lifted to her courteously by the servile points of light.