Martin finished his drink while listening to Namo's performance. He had to admit, he enjoyed the sound of her voice. Without being an expert in terminology, he nevertheless could appreciate her considerable vocal range and dynamic style that breathed life into the songs, which in turn complimented the rustic atmosphere of the bar, much like a coat of thoughtfully-selected stain accentuates the color of even the dingiest of woodwork. He wanted to ask her what the songs were about; with many of the songs, he felt like he could almost grasp some of the stories being told, or at least the emotions behind the stories. As his mind meandered, the man wondered how the events of the day might have unfolded had he not chanced upon the faun bard. Although he had grumbled to himself earlier that the two of them would part ways soon enough, the thief had to admit he was almost reluctant to do so. Namo had certainly livened up his evening, even if she had consistently run her mouth for the rest of the day. He couldn't help but smile at the exuberance and enthusiasm she displayed while on stage—she was truly a performer at heart.

Namo finished her song, a slow, romantic ballad that garnered her scattered applause from the crowd. Several of the patrons had departed for the evening, returning home to families and evening chores to perform by candle- or lamplight, as the hour had begun drawing late. For those who remained, Namo had a special announcement: “Thank you all sooo much for staying and hearing my songs! It's been wonderful to see your reactions and I hope I've brought ya as much joy as I feel right now." A few people applauded in affirmation, which caused her smile to widen. “I have one last song I'd like to sing for you all tonight. This one is special to me 'cause it's a song I wrote entirely on my own. It's about how I felt leaving Jeju, my home, and how excited I was—I still am, I mean—to see more of the world. I hope you enjoy!"

After a moment to compose herself, she began the melody: a slow lullaby. Martin wondered if this was a common theme in faun music, to start songs off in such a manner. She began by humming this gentle, arpeggiatic melody, then repeated the melody with lyrics:

Go'snaa podeke'epo nanuu ke

Go'snaa jeju'apode baduu le

Natoba nuuke

Kuunova nuule

The meter of the song reminded him of a Shakespearean sonnet he had been forced to recite as a schoolboy, but the meter was where the similarities began and ended. The next stanza continued with a slightly faster tempo and a bit more energy than the first, almost but not quite danceable in its rhythm:

Naanto'sn begopo denuutaanto

Kobo'sn ne'snota denuutanto

Natoba nuuke

Puutebe nuule

Followed by a return to the slower, softer chorus:

Go'snaa podeke'epo nanuu ke

Go'snaa jeju'apode baduu le

Natoba nuuke

Kuunova nuule

The next verse doubled the energy of the first verse, and Martin had an inexplicable hunch that the verse were an exultation of the land, based on the way she gestured. Her “jazz-hands" may have seemed silly to some, but the sincerity with which she gesticulated to the crowd was difficult to find fault in:

Amkopse amtose mebode le

Ant'snona aneenu mebode le

Natoba nuuke

Bebodeba nuule

The third refrain, unlike the first two times she had sung it, matched the energy of the last verse, perhaps signaling a loss of hesitation and an openness for what the future could bring:

Go'snaa podeke'epo nanuu ke

Go'sna jeju'apode baduu le

Natoba nuuke

Kuunova nuule

The final lyrics of the song encapsulated the dynamism of the tone of the song as a whole. First, a gentle line:

Podeke'epo

Followed by a boisterous, almost shouted:

Kuubeatnaanto!

Namo sang the last line with such force that Martin noticed at least one drunkard who had passed out on the table wake up with a start.

Near silence permeated the bar save for the creaking of the patrons in the old chairs and stools. Then, a few folks clapped in support. Far from a standing ovation, but encouraging to Martin, and hopefully Namo, nonetheless. Martin joined the patrons in applauding the faun, who bowed and thanked the audience for their attention and support. Then, she looked at Martin, visage adorned with an adorable pensive expression. They made eye contact. For the first time since they had met earlier that day, Martin sensed vulnerability in her large, chocolate eyes. He flashed her a smile and held up his empty glass to her, as if to offer her a toast. She let out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief—nearly being the operable word—and smiled.

The faun troubadour walked down the stage, still looking at him, and he pointed at the tip basket at the front of the stage, then to her chair, motioning her to grab the tips and bring them to the bar. The faun followed his finger, not sure at first what he was pointing at. With a subtle head tilt and a furrowed brow, she went over to inspect the basket, then realized what was in it. She picked up the entire basket and meandered over to the bar. On her way over, she was stopped by a pair of patrons who engaged her in brief conversation, perhaps thanking her for the performance, to which she laughed and bowed graciously.

When she made her way back to the bar, the faun troubadour placed the basket on the table, at which point Martin instructed: “Empty it out and set it back on the stage so whoever performs next can use it." She nodded and haphazardly dumped the handful of coins onto the bar. Martin had to quickly reach over both sides of the bar to keep a few coins from rolling off.

“Alright, I'm gonna go put this back on stage. Be right back," she said, chipper as was typically the case.

While she walked to stage, Martin quickly tallied the various copper and silver coins on the bar in front of him. 65 cred: enough for a few nights of meals and drinks at dive bars like this. He glanced at the faun, who had been stopped by another patron that apparently was interested in having a conversation with her. She was sufficiently distracted. If Martin wanted, he could take probably 15 cred or so without her even noticing. Yet despite Namo's apparent nonchalance toward human currency, Martin could not find it within himself to appropriate a portion of her earnings. Perhaps it was because of those principles he had claimed to have to Ms. Joplin, even if he recognized that his statement was mostly a white lie.

Namo plopped on the barstool next to him, nearly toppling it sideways. She fell on Martin, who helped her regain her balance. “Easy there, cowgirl," he laughed.

The faun returned a small laugh. “Uff da, sorry there Martin!" Then, noticing the coins in front of her: “Oh, you stacked all the coins!" She straightened out in the stool.

“Yeah, looks like you earned 65 cred from your performance."

“Is that a lot?" She grabbed one of the coins and spun it around in the lamplight, inspecting the engraving on the faces.

“Not bad for an hour's worth of singing. You paid for our accommodations and then some. How's your voice?" He waved over the bartender and asked for a glass of water for Namo.

“A little scratchy, but I'll be alright," she replied. The faun wiggled her ears in anticipation as Ms. Joplin produced a pitcher from under the counter and provided a pitcher of water to her. “Nice job out there, miss. I'd say you earned you and your freeloading friend here a night's stay on the house. But don't go telling nobody I did that for yas."

“Thank you, Maggie. I appreciate it. Both the rooms, and the water!" She grabbed the glass and gulped down the drink in front of her. Martin just sat in silence, grasping the empty tumbler that had once contained his whiskey, averting his eyes from the uncouth chugging the woman next to him was engaging in.

She all but slammed the glass down on the table with a satisfied exhale. “So, how was I on stage? Did I do good?"

Countless responses to her question threatened to come out at once. He thought about chastising her for her hypocrisy of supposedly not wanting to stand out, as she had claimed before they had found the bar. He considered offering a backhanded negging compliment to keep her from getting too big for her britches. He nearly considered just deflecting and changing the subject. Instead, when he looked in her eyes and saw the same vulnerability he had seen earlier, as if she were pleading him nonverbally to share his sincere thoughts, the words left his mouth on their own. “You were wonderful, Namo. I loved it."

She wiggled her ears and averted her eyes bashfully, but was otherwise uncharacteristically silent.

Before too long, the pair requested directions to the rooms, and were shown the way by the barkeep. Once upstairs, they found two adjacent rooms down the narrow hallway that overlooked the road toward the front of the building. The floor creaked, the walls were dingy, and the furnishings were meager at best, but it was a bed and that was what mattered. At the entrance to their rooms, Martin requested that the two of them meet in the saloon in the morning, then bid his newfound travel partner goodnight.

The itinerant rogue stepped inside the room and closed the door. His room for the night contained a cot, a table, and a stool, forlorn in their squalid upkeep. A single window, with an operable pane to let in the cool night air, shone light from the gas street lamps from the far wall opposite the entrance. The hapless thief set his pack down and dressed down to his smallclothes. As he flopped into the cot, window to his right, he heard Namo open the window in the adjacent room. He surmised she might be having a look outside.

The man's eyes grew heavy, but was held back from sleeping when he heard her sing, quietly, but loud enough through the thin walls to where he recognized the melody in arpeggio from earlier:

Go'snaa podeke'epo nanuu ke

Go'snaa jeju'apode baduu le

Natoba nuuke

Kuunova nuule

Listening to the song, Martin pondered this strange and interesting faun woman. Maybe her perplexing and intriguing, if a bit annoying, personality was a faun trait. Maybe it was unique to her. Considering she was the only faun he had ever met, he couldn't know for sure. But he felt some measure of gratitude that they had met nonetheless, if only because it interrupted the tedium of barely scraping enough money by through mostly dishonest means to drink himself to sleep each night.

As she continued singing, the man laid out his options for his next move, the reason why he had agreed to travel with her in the first place: their shared connection with this silver-dagger-carrying woman, however tenuous it was. Where was she hiding? What was this business she had with the mayor? Why was she really here in Fordham, if she was still here at all? These and other questions swirled through the man's head.

Martin began to develop an itinerary for the following day: mayor's office, purchase gear, request a monetary loan from Namo…but before long, Namo's muffled lullaby coaxed him into slumber.