Hardulf ate his steak with the roster ledger on the table. Smudging the pages with grease was the least of his worries. There were enough men only for three teams for patrolling during the night. The three men injured during the avalanche made things even harder.
Reaching out with his left hand to grab his pint of beer, he was more focused on the ledger. For that reason, his hand pushed the mug over the edge of the table, spilling its content and smashing it on the floor.
That raised an entire serenade of curses dedicated to his now departed alcoholic beverage. Never stopping the rain of swearing pouring rapidly from his mouth, Hardulf bent down to gather the pieces of the broken mug.
He caught Agatha's amber stare as he sat back down on the seat, his back straight against the wooden backrest. She was just across the table from him and had undoubtedly heard his expletives.
