She refilled Adrien's glass, and he drank a second time. The water tasted a bit stale, he thought, but nothing worth complaining about. His eyes fixated on a bottle half-filled with a deep amber liquor, then lost focus. In spite of the tavern lady's efforts, he was still somewhat worried by what he had just heard. The conversation had just brought to the foreground of his mind the worry that had been hounding him for weeks: that his enterprise had been a mistake. After all, the sorcerer Valerion was a stranger to him. All he knew about him was his work, plus the one letter he had received in response to his; he didn't sound like a bad person in writing, but what if he had misjudged him? Or, what if he simply wasn't someone he'd want as a mentor?

Adrien took in a deep breath, trying to keep his fears at bay. He chose to focus on another thought instead: that the townsfolk had no ill feelings towards the sorcerer. That's better than he had expected; he thought that, living in such a rural place, surely the people in the villages nearby would be wary of the sorcerer's presence, and probably blamed him for anything from dandruff to lightning strikes. Instead, judging from the way the lady had been talking, the people of Falderdeen seemed to have no complaints about him, even if he barely interacted with them. That must be a good sign, Adrien thought; maybe Valerion was just that likeable of a person, and he'd have no trouble as his apprentice. He placed a weak smile on his face, and his eyes focused again on the face of the old woman in front of him.