"Hey, Warden!"
Dal paused on his way through the mess hall and turned toward the source of the gravelly call. "What can I do for you, Oghren?"
Oghren thumped his tankard on the table and waved for Dal to come closer – a perilous prospect for anyone with a functioning nose (and occasionally taste buds, Oghren's belches sometimes had multiple dimensions to their foulness). But Dal went and sank down on the bench next to the dwarf.
"Problems, my friend?"
Oghren grunted. "Eh, not so much, but I know I can trust you not to lead me wrong."
Dal raised an eyebrow. "I do my best."
"So it's about them schleets."
"I told you those weren't real already," Dal reminded him.
"Uh huh," Oghren agreed before he emptied a pouch out on the table sending dozens of tiny black balls rolling across the surface. "which is why I wanted to ask you if maybe these aren't really schleet eggs."
Dal wrinkled his nose when a non-Oghren odor hit him. He rose from the bench and took a step back. "Goat dung, Oghren. My word on it."
He was going to haveto have a word with Sigrun.