Dandelion undoubtedly, did not notice the 'slightly' off expressions of the two friends behind him.
Before Geralt discreetly pulled at the corner of his tight-fitting shirt, the poet had already walked with a lively step into the tavern.
"Hello, everyone! Wishing you joy and good health!" Dandelion said loudly as he walked through the wooden door, with the lute echoing a resonant sound, the strings leaping joyfully under his thumb.
"I, Master Dandelion—the most renowned poet on this land—graces your crude establishment, tavern owner! He wishes for a drink! Can you appreciate the great honor I bestow upon you, you old miser?"
"Seems like he's quite familiar with the owner." Lann and Geralt could only follow behind, the young man whispering to White Wolf. "Maybe things won't get too ugly?"
Geralt looked back at Lann expressionlessly.
He could tell the young man's tone behind him was akin to a wishful thinking in an awkward situation.
Commonly known as: dreaming.
