Altar of Twilight a bitter pill to swallow

Belharra flipped a switch real fast when she realized her story - her carefully made, perfectly spun story - was literally falling on deaf ears.

She clapped her mouth shut, stood at attention, and glared. She wasn't going to be anyone's road-bard if they weren't willing to pay the price: which, as luck had it, was the simple fee of two receptive, working ears.

"Hmph." Belharra responded with a lash of her tail, the scoff as cold as the winter air about them. "If ye care more 'bout your weaselfolk than my story, might as well say it, lass. I won't be wastin' me breath a moment further, if ye like."