The teamster took the cue and led his donkeys away as soon as their reins were freed from the wreckage. They gave dry barks, the beasts braying at being suddenly yanked, but they moved all the same. The onlookers, as well as the guards and the remaining teamster watched in slack-jawed awe as Beren continually lifted the immense frame up until it plateaued above his head. His robe had obscured the hard muscles beneath, and those watching wondered if it was not some queer, monkish trick or sorcery that allowed him to do it. 

The feat was not necessarily inhuman, but the surprise of accomplishing it and the ease in which he did it gave them pause. Beren squared his jaw, his kind, dark eyes leveling on them. 

"Can we hurry this up? It's heavy." 

"Oh!" The men began scrambled to the wagon, beginning to move the debris that lay atop it. It had crashed into a ramshackle vendor stall and demolished a poor apple merchant's shop, but luckily no one was hurt physically. The multitude of rolling and pulped fruit and the shanty timber that had toppled upon the upturned cart was finally removed, and the group aided Beren in moving the framework of it out of the road, so the Nemean gate could open up once again. The mutters of suspicion from earlier slowly died down, and those that watched gave smiles and some even clapped at the quick work. Praise was meant to be weathered, not devoured, his master often told him. He accepted it with a kind smile, and let it die down before he turned to look for Calliope. However, in the midst of the crowd, he found an ominous woman, yet it was not the one he sought. 

An old crone appeared as if she had popped into existence, a staff in her hands only slightly more gnarled than her own mottled skin. Her cheeks were sunken, and her hair was greasy, yet there was a cloth over her eyes. Beren's first instinct was to walk past her, but she cackled pointedly at him, drawing his attention. 

"Do you feel it?" She asked, pausing for a moment. The hag held her hand out and gazed skyward. "The first drop of the coming storm." Beren glanced upwards skeptically, and as he thought, the sky was clear and blue. The old woman tapped her staff onto the street and stepped toward him. "In this storm, you and the black serpent will be tested, and found wanting. You are opposite ends of law and chaos. Your partnership can only end in calamity, yet is that not so sweet? Heed these words..." 

Beren blinked. "How do I know I can trust you over her?" He asked, defensively. Whatever the old crone was, she was not a friend. Somehow he knew that. The hag cackled again, and the press of bodies around them increased until they were a river, the Nemean Gate now bringing in more traffic. As Beren shouldered his way through, he found in her spot not the crone, but Calliope, looking at him with her typical raised eyebrow and lip curled in mild distaste. 

"You're like a dog. Three minutes and you're distressed without me." She said to the monk, rolling her eyes. 

"You're the one on the leash, remember?" He remarked with a smirk. His satisfaction was short lived, as he felt a cold chill down his spine. He knew then and there she would have done something either terrible, or at least very uncomfortable to him, if she could. He imagined there was something inherently emasculating involved. It was then Beren realized her insult, while obviously meant to sting him, was not as cruel as the others. Maybe he should be less defensive? He was never one to let his pride get in the way of progress, and he inclined his head. "You are right though, you're invaluable. Shall we go meet the lugal? He is expecting u-...me."