Indeed, Ljúfa was already wide awake and standing a few paces away, outside and well within earshot of the group. The giggle of an unfamiliar voice would reach alert ears. Judging from the distance, she was having a small chat with someone on the side of the stables.
"And that is why you marry a Breton. We're the best cooks!" piped a cheery voice that was in the process of gnawing on a sweetroll so early in the morning.
The taller woman flared her nostrils and just couldn't wait to get out of here. Sleeping in the stables? Ljúfa lived the life of a soldier and was accustomed to retiring in the oddest places but not even a thousand septims could convince the woman to sleep soundly where horses dwelled. The familiar animal stench reached her nose.
"Yes, they're all the best cook but you're the crappiest in the Reach," the Nord responded, booming out a loud laugh which quickly ceased after hearing familiar voices from inside.
"I need to head back in."
"Write to me when you get to Shor's Stone or something. I promise to have a handsome man lined up for you, wearing the amulet of Mara with conviction. No liars."
The much more jovial Breton broke into a loud scream. The answer as to why came in the form of the Battlemage carrying the priestess over her right shoulder, drifting past the group inside the stables. The woman slung over her shoulders was carrying an amulet of Dibella, sandaled feet kicking during her uncontrolled giggles. Ljúfa chugged the curly brown haired priestess on the bench of the empty carriage and waved, announcing her farewells. "Kynareth guide you."
When Ljúfa made her way back in the stables, the playful grin was replaced with a serious mask--hands placed behind her when she leaned against a wooden pillar, listening to the chatter about the next traveling destination.
"To answer your question, I'm going to assume we'll arrive by nightfall," she answered the inquiring Orc.
