It had been a lazy afternoon on the pier, not a nibble for hours. My best bud Trumpy wasn't having any luck either, but he sure had lots of stories to tell about the lore behind his favorite spot. We didn't give a care over the gate being locked and the who-knew-how-many people on the other side waiting for their chance to get in. This was our quality time, and we relished the peace and quiet. As the sun was just about so set, my fishing pole broke, something it invariably seemed to do around that time. When I pulled it out of the water, Trumpy bent over howling with laughter. It was immediately apparent why we had such little success that afternoon... we had forgotten to buy any bait! I was ready to give up on the chance of any night fishing, figuring the hordes would be upon us any moment now, but Trumpy just chuckled and said, "Not tonight they won't." Apparently the rusty lock on the gate remained unrepaired. I reflected for a moment, and then asked, "Don't tell me, you didn't throw Prathun's toolbox off the pier again..." The gales of laughter were all I needed to hear, well of course he had. Night fishing it would be. I headed towards the trading post to fetch the much-needed bait, and Trumpy shouted after me (as if I could possibly forget his favorite), "Make mine a Blackburrow Stout!"
