Meara, the old barmaid, had finally summoned enough courage to move from her place behind the counter and scuttle around to her young friend's side. "Lass? Lass! Are you all right?" She thought about slapping the Bard's rosy cheeks. However, Meara dared not in front of the Elf and the Dwarven maiden who had suddenly appeared at his side. If she tried to bring Per'dra out of her glassy-eyed trance that way, it wouldn't bode well for her. Who would go to a tavern where the barkeep routinely slapped his or her patrons around?
"I'm all right, Meara," the Bard cried. "I was simply having a daydream about my awful nightmare, fueled by that absinthe, I bet!" She winked at the older woman, concealing the truth from her. "I found out that I was dreaming about dragons. A dragon, as a matter of fact. Where could my mind have gone, to imagine such outrageous beasts?" She grinned at those around her, wondering whom she could trust with such knowledge besides the Elf. "Maybe my poor little brother was a dragon, roaring hello. Who in Sazhen' knows?"
"I certainly don't, my dear lady," Meara answered, shaking her head. "You've had enough alcohol for tonight, I daresay. Won't you go on home to bed?"
"Not yet. I--this tavern is so warm, and my quarters in the slums aren't."