A few people clapped their hands after Mialla's performance, including the baroness Waldgreen, others uttered a "well done", or "good songs"; everyone appeared pleased with the evening's entertainment.<br/><br/>"Maybe we can teach you some hymns," the cleric at the high table proposed, the baroness countering the proposal with a wide smile and a "getting tired of my chanting, are you?" to her neighbor, before she focused on Mialla. "I enjoyed that. Well done. But it's getting late and you must have had a long day on the road. You are excused for the rest of the evening, but I hope to hear you sing tomorrow at supper again."<br/><br/>The squire was also excused from his duties of waiting at the high table and escorted Mialla back to the kitchen, reaching for her arm, but not quite touching it in a guiding gesture, as the conversation around the tables turned to the next day's business and the everyday affairs of the keep.<br/><br/>"That was great," the boy, Edric offered with a grin. "We kept the door ajar to hear you. I couldn't make out all the words, but it sounded great. Only that those tales had too much lovey dovey stuff and not enough dragons. Or giants."<br/><br/>"True," Giles, the squire, agreed. "Some songs about the heroic slaying of giants or dragons would probably be well received by that audience." He was clearly amused by Edric's remark, even if he did a good job of making his voice sound thoughtful and serious enough. Giles Fletcher's face was a very open book, easily read.<br/><br/>The kitchen staff had cleaned up some, while Mialla performed in the hall and now everyone sat down at one of the tables that had been pushed into the center of the room for their own supper. The boiled beef had made a good broth with some pieces of meat still in it and Petrus had added carrots and peas to the mix. A pitcher of small beer was passed between them. There were still the tables to clean when everyone had left the hall, but for the moment they could enjoy a break from their duties.<br/><br/>"So..." Giles began, halfway through his meal, drawing out the word as long as possible, "tell me a little about yourself, Mialla. I'm sure I won't get a wink of sleep tonight before I haven't answered a lot of questions about the songbird who decided to winter with us. The common soldiers' words, not mine," he added with some haste. "I have my room in the barracks, and the men at arms do have a legitimate interest of knowing who stays around the keep. You know, security reasons and all that."