Perhaps.So the Vangon farmers continued to farm, or at least did what they could against the freezing rains, frosts, the short days and the long night... of winter. Meantime, snug in their workshops, the leather-workers and metal-workers and sword-smiths and all the other artisans and craftsmen went about their business. There were always arms and armour and clothing needing repair and replacement; winter was was their busiest time, and they worked long hours to satisfy their customers.As for the. He staggered over to the table and leaned down, putting his hands on the table. ‘Who the fuck are you? I hear you been talking shit about me.’ He looked up, calmly, while he rolled the magazine he had been reading into a tight little cylinder. ‘Who I am is none of your business. I’d have to notice you to talk about you, and frankly, you don’t look interesting enough to warrant my attention. Now stagger back to your table like a good little boy, and we’ll forget the whole thing.’ Everyone had. More

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