The bard saw Wraithvine and Gikka's camp, saw Wraithvine was sleeping, Gikka on guard. They quietly came up, asked to join the camp, and in return, offered to play music to while away some time -- Anon Guest
[AN: Elves don't sleep, Nonny, but I understand what you mean]
A wandering minstrel needs many things, it is true. Besides sustenance, rest, and shelter, a minstrel also needs an audience. So, footsore and travel weary, Chantalla Pascadill was glad of a fire with shadows around it.
That kind of fire meant a camp. Camp meant people. People meant listeners. Feedback! Sweet, glorious, golden feedback!
When creation is a soul's meat and milk, knowing that the creation can appeal to an audience is the difference between life and death. Chantalla increased their pace. A trade already in their mind.
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