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	The momentary burst of seriousness from Lizbeth faded back into what one might expect from a little girl who lost her grandfather. The notes of moisture returned to her eyes and a quiet, sullen demeanor encompassed the whole of her, from expression to posture. The calm reassurance that the adults would handle things did not alleviate the grief of her loss. The Prestidigitation gave her the beginnings of a smile, but the subject matter confused her as to its relevance to the current situation, even if she was not consciously processing this thought. Little Lizbeth's eyes darted from Kosara to Kathryn, then back. [color=darkgray]"So you two are, like, [i]really good friends[/i]?"[/color] Though clouded by a haze of welling emotion, her words seemed to hint at something she wasn't openly vocalizing. 

	Cecily heard the exchange between Hugh and Kosara, such as it was, and mentioned, [color=darkgray][i]"Mr. Fields used to work at Fort Darenby, like I said. I hear he has an arrangement with the Sheriff. I'm going there in a minute to leave my oxen. I'm sure Lizbeth can handle your mule, unless you want to handle him yourself."[/i][/color]

	Content to break away from the attention, Lizbeth made her move over to the wagons, intent to conform to her aunt's wishes and make herself useful. A little something to keep her hands busy and mind focused wasn't a bad thing, either. [color=darkgray]"Do you want to keep your wagon in the loft or at Mr. Fields's place?"[/color] she politely asked to no one in particular. 

	The words of Victoria rolled around in the elder Mrs. L'Rose's brain for a moment or two following their brief back-and-forth about family deities and possible plans for interment. [color=darkgray][i]"Thank you. I would rather this take place sooner, so I shall be back in a few minutes, after the oxen are handed over."[/i][/color] She appeared to have noticed something about the bard, suddenly mentioning, [color=darkgray][i]"You have a hole in your sleeve, young lady. I can take care of that for you, if you like."[/i][/color] If nothing else, she seemed to want to be helpful. 

	The Public House, quite nearby, is still brimming with business. No one seems to have taken any note of the comings and going of the travelers in and around the hayloft, engrossed in their own business, or more likely, their own festivities. From somewhere inside a song breaks out which is quickly taken up by a chorus of many novice voices, resulting in a blur of oft conflicting syllables only recognizable as a song because of the verbal cadence. Nevertheless, the people in and around Bob's seem in good spirits. 

	The Fields Stable, also quite nearby, is less busy. The building itself looks to be an open warehouse type of location with a small farrier's smithy setup in the front. Within, one can see lines of individual stable stalls and a wide open section in the back, all of which is plainly visible because of the open nature of the front and the wide, barn-like doors far in the back left open for light and air to circulate. Despite the lack of business relative to the bustling Pub in the vicinity, it seems a cheerful enough spot as casual glance. 

	It is still daylight, not quite suppertime yet but definitely after one might take Tea; shadows lengthening upon the ground on account of the sun making its usual path across the mostly clear sky. The wind has picked up a little, blowing moderate gusts which contain a note of autumn chill; while not freezing, it certainly is not the most comfortable. The attire of the average person about the streets reflects this as coats and cloaks are the norm, quality and cut reflecting the various social strata of the Township. 

	The real movement is back up the street from which you came, back toward the main north/south thoroughfare. Now that things are quieter on the end of the militia which was gathered there at the point in time of the party's arrival, foot and vehicle traffic from the people set up outside of the high log walls has resumed. The building festival atmosphere is palpable.