The air was thick in the Broken Tankard. The floor was moving as dozens of pairs of feet encircled each other in heavy pulses. The minstrels in the corner were worse for several flagons of mead and rhythm was largely being held by the pounding feet of the locals dancing. There were cries of joy, couples jeering at each other and an exuberance that was on a knife edge with desperate kissing on one side and a fist-fight on the other. Windows rattled and floorboards gradually teased their nails out with each collective leap.

Oblivious to the throng of other patrons, in a dimly lit corner and beneath a hatched window sat two figures. Their hands joined together at rest on the beaten oak. A collection of odd candles poured their wax onto the table and bathed the two in an intimate glow. They were leaning in together after an evening in each other’s delightful company.

Light from the misfit candles danced a constellation of stars in the woman’s eyes as she looked over the table at her partner. She was beaming a smile across the table that her partner felt all the way down to the souls of his feet. He was drawing tiny circles on her hand with his fingers and failing to contain his joy.

There was a pause in the conversation and they smiled softly at one another. He slowly placed a hand on the side of her face and felt the warmth of her skin on his palm. They leaned in together and their lips met. Each second seemed to linger on for minutes. The noise and energy of the tavern grew ever more distant. She grabbed the scruff of his collar and pulled the two even tighter.