Perched cross-legged on the edge of her table, Bellamy Stormguard's vantage point was still situated a good two feet below the other patrons of the tavern.  She watched them with great interest, bouncing one knee in time to an indiscernible tune.  The action was performed at continuous peril to the wooden plate of bread and fruit--she'd devoured her stew already in record time--where it rested in her lap, but she didn't seem to notice.  Standing at about three and a half feet on a good day, Bell shared the hearty health and diminutive size of her race, but for all intents and purposes appeared as a petite human child.  Pale blond hair, nearly white, was caught up in tousled, braided pigtails, while wayward wisps fell haphazardly around sky blue eyes and a youthful face.<br/><br/>â€œWe'll have an inn someday, not so different from this one. More music, of course.  Lots more color.  Color everywhere, in rugs and banners and tapestries.  All around the room, floor to roof.â€  Accompanying her words with animated hand gestures in-between popping grapes into her mouth, Bellamy rattled on.  â€œBlue, yellowâ€”lots of yellow; it's the color of energyâ€”purple, green.  Red, but not too much, to clash with the yellow.  Great big pots in the middle of every table, all filled up with daises.  And on celebration days weâ€”we'll...  Marric, are you even listening?â€<br/><br/>Sitting beside the diminutive dwarf was an intimidating figure, both in size and expression: a Worgen in patched armor, sword laid across his knees.  Marric's head was hung low and tense over the able, and he acknowledged Bell's question with only a quick flicker of his deep yellow eyes in her direction.<br/><br/>â€œCalm down,â€ she cooed, seeing his discomfort with the crowds around them and reaching out to pet the thick fur of his neck gently, as though he were a frightened animal.  â€œWhy don't you eat something?  Here, try one of these.â€<br/><br/>She offered him a grape, and again his only response was physical.  Keeping his jaw tightly shut to avoid the fruit, he huffed out a long, hot breath that sent one of Bell's journal pages skittering across the table.<br/><br/>Sighing, the dwarf leaned across to fetch it, shrugging and eating the grape herself.  â€œIt's going to get cold,â€ she remarked with a shrug, glancing down at the generous bowl of hearty meat stew that sat untouched before him.  â€œWould be a shame.  It looks pretty tasty.â€<br/><br/>There was a moment of loaded silence between them, and then Marric reluctantly lifted a large hand to toy with the utensil in the bowl.<br/><br/>Bell brightened at the action.  Picking up the open journal, she neatly arranged the mussed stack of parchment and set it back down.<br/><br/>â€œIs it good?â€  She asked, watching in anticipation as Marric began to eat.  He had the expression of someone being forced to consume a half-rotted corpse, but forged ahead valiantly.<br/><br/>â€œYou don't have to coddle me.â€  He grumbled, just the hint of a snarl pulling up his lips to bare sharp fangs.  An unmistakably feral tone underlined his speech, bearing more testament than any words to the internal struggled raging in his mind even as they spoke.<br/><br/>â€œOf course not,â€  Bell smiled brightly, retrieving a worn leather pouch from her belt, â€œbut sometimes it's good for you.â€<br/><br/>Now bothering to wait for the wolf to protest, she produced a carved wooden flute from the pouch and warbled out a few experimental notes, airy and playful, that carried across the room.  â€œI've been working on a new one.  Want to hear?â€<br/><br/>Marric was the first to notice the inn going quiet, his head snapping up towards the door and his nostrils flaring as he took in the new smells and sensations that accompanied the single newcomer into the room.<br/><br/>Noticing the wolf's reaction, Bell twisted around to take a look for herself.  â€œSomeone new,â€ she remarked curiously.  â€œGood.  Maybe they'll stop staring at us, now.â€<br/><br/>â€œA musical dwarf and a wolf.â€  Marric huffed sardonically and returned his attention to his soup, ears still laid back in mild irritation.  â€œWhyever<span style="font-style: italic">would</span>they stare.â€<br/><br/>Still watching the stranger inquisitively, Bell lifted her flute to her lips and began to play.