Joli is staring, open-mouthed, at Alchfrid's response.  She suddenly bursts out laughing, her voice musical and girlish.  "That's great--" she says with a broad grin, then suddenly rights herself and looks away as the realization sets in--<i>Maybe he's not joking...</i><br/><br/>Noting that the soup's gone, she sets the empty bowl on the table and lifts her tankard-- it takes a little effort, and from the waver of her forearm as she hefts it, it's clear that she's not entirely used to doing so.  "Here's to... ah... caravans.   And soup!"<br/><br/>She drinks, bracing herself for the bitter tang of metal and hops that she remembers from the drinks she used to sneak at home-- the ale's surprisingly smooth and crisp-tasting-- far better than home-- and she drinks steadily for a few seconds.  She licks her lips and stares at the foamy tankard as if it just asked her a question. "This went far better than expected..." she lifts it in thanks at Lon.  "Thanks."