He heard the unusually high-pitched cry and looked over at the boy with the cup.  Nearsighted as Zeraer was, he couldn't make out the details of the boy's face that well.  But Zeraer knew illusion and deception -- knew them all too well.  Something wasn't entirely right...  Tilting his head sideways, he did something he very rarely allowed himself to do -- he looked directly at the boy, allowing himself to be easily seen quite clearly for that brief moment; he smiled and called upon the clarity of sight that his familiar gave him.  After a few seconds of concentration, his smile widened.  He walked over to the "boy."<br/><br/>"It will be a chilly evening," he said, hands disappearing inside his cloak.  His right hand withdrew, holding 5 silver pieces.  "Not a night to go hungry on, my dear... lad," he said with a nod, his voice lowered now, as he dropped the coins into the cup.  Zeraer gestured towards the tavern, still fixing the Halfling with his gaze.  "Something smells good, " he noted.  He sensed that it was probably a reasonably safe tavern, all things considered, but his nerves were still on edge.  He clucked and murmured to himself as his hands disappeared again inside his cloak, adjusting his belongings so that any potential pickpocket would discover a trifle and not the bulk of his small number of valuable coins.  He started towards the tavern door, his face once more turned down, his cloak wrapped tightly around him.