Westen straightened his cloak, then turned and sneered at Harold. Harold smiled, oblivious.
"I am most grateful to you for coming to my defense, Westen," he said. Westen responded by grabbing Harold's shirt and lifting him off the ground.
"If you ever touch me again, I will do worse to you than I did to that Druid," growled the Lone Wolf. He dropped Harold bodily to the floor, then turned and strode toward the gaming table.
"What are you doing?" stammered Harold. "Aren't you going to finish him off?"
"No, I'm not. It's no longer a concern of mine, frankly. If you can't handle an old man with a hole in his gut, then you've got far worse problems than I want to deal with." Lone Wolf pulled out the seat next to the merchant and sat, nodding to the approaching proprietor.
Harold stumbled after Lone Wolf, frustrated. "So, what, you're going to gamble?"
"You need 40 crowns, don't you? Let's see how close we can get, while I wait for my... other friend to arrive." As Westen started counting coins into his palm, Harold pondered who he could possibly mean. Another school chum, perhaps.
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