Wrik was bewildered from all the looks he was getting the audience, though none of them dismissed him or anything. Perhaps it was his aura, or the more probable reason should be the man who asked him the question.
"Folk are waiting, young friend," the man said as he rested him but in the tree's Columb. He steadied the lute in a position to play, looking at him, waiting for him to decide what story he would like to hear.
Wrik arched his eyebrows. The bard should have recognised him, or else he would not ask him,
"Something unexpected?" he asked uncertainty. "Something surreal, but still unexpected."
He clearly had no idea what he should expect now. But the response from the audience told him, it ain't going to be half bad.
