"Aldeph and yes, we are terribly uncivilized down there," Pela answers the non-question with mock severity, as if being tasked to relay some tragic revelation. "We live in huts made of mud and sticks, letting our goats eat off the kitchen table. We only bathe once a month, and we don't use currency but trade in seashells and cormorant feathers. At night we huddle around the fires and bang rocks together for music. Truly, I am not fit for proper Kalvadan society. I suppose you'll just have to send me back, shamed like a spurned housewarming gift."

Pela holds the serious expression through the clerk returning once again through the door, calling more names but still not hers, before she breaks into a grin with a soft laugh.

"Those are the things you mainlanders really think of the south, aren't they? I'm only having a bit of fun. I don't know what's put the adminstrators so far behind pace, but I don't think it is supposed to backed up like this with so many of us here. It makes me wonder what's going on."

She looks back at the knot of people filling the room. "Peace, sorré. I only sat because no one else had, no other reason. That is a lovely ward you're using, by the way. Who cast it, might I ask?"