Well, well. They'd stopped singing. Even the oxherd had ceased his infernal jingling. That was more like it.<br/><br/>Bal smoothed his waistcoat and plucked a timepiece out of his pocket by its gold chain. Holding it up, he pretended to ponder it while studying the stragglers nearby. The preachers were out and about attempting to convert the unwary, no doubt. The nervous one had dark skin. The girl had an intriguing sword; or was it the other way around? He followed their eyes and glanced around the corner of his wagon, where a nasty piece of elvish work was gadding about.<br/><br/>"More than one," he interjected, catching the dark skin's question. "I'll wager any number of things have their eyes on you." He returned his watch to his pocket and turned towards the oxherd's twirling staff. Was that a thief's brand on his wrist? Behind his burgundy lenses the satyr's eyes narrowed suspiciously.