The Fine Feast of Aithirne

Fools the lot of them. He was smarter than all and therefore most worthy.
The bard looked around at the gathered band of warriors where they began to make their camp for the evening. Every person had a purpose, moving to fetch firewood, or water. Clearing rocks or stamping down grass. Laying out bedrolls or coverings. 
Aithirne sneered at them all from his seat. Dull folk engaged in menial tasks. Not exactly worthy material for poetic inspiration. Well maybe it was for some others who did not possess his skill in word craft. Let the lesser bards speak on lesser subjects. Where others had taken to training with the draoi to learn the power of words, he had been born with the gift and from his earliest memories it had always served him well for whatever wants he may have.

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