For some reason, Ned's heartbeat skipped a bit upon hearing Master Woods' words: "I might know a distinguishing Roy."
The blonde man stopped. He never said another word. He skipped his fingers on the table as if waiting for something Ned had to offer. The forties or fifties of wrinkles hang under his brown eyes. Eyebrows lined with blonde hair, and an impassive look glared at Ned.
Ned opened his pouch. Slid twenty, but the man shook his head, which made Ned put thirty silver on the table.
Master Woods smiled dryly as he put the silver under the table. He then formed a tower with his fingers touching his chins.
"There's only one Roy," Master Woods had said. "That came into mind. According to old Deylan. He is Roy of Moorkeg, around fifties or sixties. Then, if I could match the description to that of the man I had in mind, then, he must be the Roy you are looking, Ned Sskat."
"Who?" Ned said eventually.
