*The harp music from beside the fire is an old hymn today, but Guinevere seems abstracted. Her fingers move over the strings automatically, though without stumbling.*
He'd been a little surprised when the door to his workshop opened onto the bar again, but he certainly hadn't hesitated to step inside and close the door behind him. So far, no time had passed in the abbey during his previous sojourns in the bar, and as the day had been wet and raw for late May the promise of a warm fire is a nearly irresistible temptation.
He slows a little as he approaches the fire, not wishing to disturb the lady playing the harp. The tune is familiar to his ears, though, and a small smile drifts across his face as he listens to her play -- and tries not to hum along too loudly.
'Good day to you, madam,' he replies, with a pleasant nod. Her accent and her clothing are far closer to the dress of his own time than most any he has seen here thus far. 'You play wonderfully well indeed.'
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He slows a little as he approaches the fire, not wishing to disturb the lady playing the harp. The tune is familiar to his ears, though, and a small smile drifts across his face as he listens to her play -- and tries not to hum along too loudly.
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She returns his smile, and it widens slightly at the sight of his habit.*
Good day, Brother.
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