So here I am, outside a tavern in a new country, not all that unlike my own. I seem to have lost track of my wandering friends and find myself alone. But I am hungry, and most definitely thirsty, and cold. Very cold. The west of Britain is never this cold so early in the year.

Pulling open the door, I enter and am struck by the sudden warmth and the great din of voices. Slipping around the edges of the crowd, I find a seat along the wall, a place to see, but not so much to be seen. The barmaid has seen me though, and comes to take my order, rattling off the specials of the day.

"A platter of your roasted vension I think, and some bread. And a mug of your best bier, before the food if you will," I smile at her.