Cerri snorted in reply.
"I have seen my fill of this and every other part of the land through sixteen countries and three ship's voyages. There are folk in the world that write backwards, of all things. The sound of their talking is pretty enough, but their writing would make your eyes cross."
Her friend eyed her, the corner of her mouth turning a little in amusement. "That can surely not be all. Hast found no one to suit your fancy, these long years you're gone?"
The gypsy's brow lifted a little at it. "The stuff of bards' tales, my dear. Love found, love lost, love murdered sleeping... no, there are enough as suit me, but I suited not them. And there are more still that I suit, apparently, but suit not me. The rest of it is chiefly taken up in singing or dancing for my supper, my freedom, or both, mistaking my continence with that distiller's skill in his art, and awakening again knowing neither myself nor my surroundings..."
The healer shook her head at her friend. "The stuff of bards' tales."
The gypsy had another swallow of her ale. "Aye."
"Will you be telling any?"
Cerri glowered. "Not tonight. And not in her hearing, either," she replied, glancing at the child.
She toyed a little with the food that had been brought, nodding in thanks to the girl. Little Beryl was too well-mannered to stare, but Cerri noted how she tried not to appear to want to.
"She has grown," she conceded, shaking her head at it.
"They do," Heather returned. "So then." She sat back in her chair and eyed her friend. "You'll not be singing at all for us, then? Not anything, of so rich a tapestry of... 'experience'?" she teased, deliberately over-emphasizing the word.
Cerri shrugged. "Not all of it is worth the telling."
Heather tilted her head slightly, her green eyes dancing. "Not even the stuff of bards' tales?"
Cerri sighed. She'd been caught again. "You miss nothing," she snipped. "Thank you for reminding me, I shan't forget it so easy again."
It was Heather's turn to offer a sort of shrug, the corner of her mouth turning even more. "Most welcome."
The gypsy misliked her tone, but answered with another slow, feral grin. "I do know this lovely little ditty, though... I've only ever heard it once around here. Something about an Inn being scorched to cinders...?" She lifted an eyebrow ever-so-slightly and smirked.
The healer's countenance paled, though chiefly from anger. "You horrible little snipe, don't you dare," she hissed.
The other shrugged again. "Being a gypsy, I can be bribed. My folk consider it a sort of... " she trailed off, her gaze thoughtful and distant, as she swirled the ale a little in her mug, "commission," she finished, meeting her eyes again with that same feral grin.
Heather could have slapped the smug look from her impish face, but she forbore. Of all the peoples of this middle earth, she had to have known this one...
"I offer you your skin, in a single piece, and the use of your wits as 'commission'," she stated in frosty tones, enunciating carefully.
Cerri chuckled, accepting the threat with good grace. "You've changed none at all," she declared, though with a smirk. She lifted another spoonful to her mouth again, her eyes twinkling.
"Although," she continued, as she chewed thoughtfully, "I see you have found someone well able to cook. This is..." she chewed a little more before swallowing, and had another pull at her ale. "This is good."
Her companion merely sat with folded arms and regarded her coolly. "And I see you have not altered much either. In essentials, that is."
Cerri shrugged. "Not all of us have elvish charm to go with that eldritch blood of yours. I imagine you'll look twenty, and be just as strong in mind and body, until you just fall over. No, no," she waved down her friend's protest. "I wish you the best of it. We don't choose our parents." She snorted, before having another bite. "Smaug's teeth, some of us don't even know them..."
Another pause, in which the gypsy continued with her supper.
"So," she said at last, wiping her mouth with the napkin and setting it aside. "Who's your friend?"
The lady healer lifted an eyebrow and glanced over her shoulder, following the gypsy's nod.
"Over by the bar. Keeps turning around and pretending not to watch..."