Ahta gazes at the door that has just swallowed the fair-haired woman with her huge bundle, when a young wench puts down a bowl of steaming stew with a wooden spoon in it before her and adds a piece of bread.
"Who is she?" Ahta says, pointing at the door.
"Errr ... huh?" The wench gives her a sheepish grin.
"The woman who just left ..." Ahta fruitlessly tries to imitate the local dialect.
"Ah, yes, that's Yng. You're not from here, are you?"
"No ... I ... I ... 'm not from here ... I need a bed for the ... night."
"Ask Amala or Anya", the girl replies and leaves for another guest.
Ahta decides to put that off until after supper, because the smell makes her mouth water, and atta's voice echoes in her head, roaring, "Food and drink holds body and soul together."
What would he think of her now, if he could see her sitting in a pub like this ... He should have received the news today, his two bravest warriors telling him his daughter sneaked away in the middle of the night - just because she does not want to be brought to her uncle's burgaz far away from everywhere - "a place less dangerous", atta had called it. But instead of spending another year waiting, she could as well made her way out of this herself, trying to find the man who had courted and wooed her, until atta had consented ...
Yet, Ahta is not sure if the handsome blond man serving for a foreign power, is the right one ...

The stew and bread fill her stomach nicely, reminding her of her deceased mother, who used to welcome dear friends with a meal like this and some beer. Lost in thought Ahta lets the spoon circle in the leftover, staring into it, as if there was something to find there.
"I need a bed", she mumbles, picks up the bowl and her tiny bundle and walks to the bar to ask for Amala or Anya.