Motan stared at him blankly.
Beo gently touched his collar and chuckled bitterly, "I have been wearing this robe for seven or eight years. I didn't replace it not because it was sewn by my mother, but simply because I can't afford a new one. Perhaps today, with the hospitality of the tavern owner, I will find myself having a hearty meal and a fair drink. But, tomorrow night, I might be forced to fast. Often, storytelling for hours on end is not enough to earn even a penny, and the cheapest black bread costs two copper coins."
"It shouldn't be like that," protested Motan, looking somewhat incredulous. "I've met many bards, and my mother always..."
