"Loman, I want you to look at this as an opportunity to address some of the ills that have plagued Lothian March for many years," Ashlynn said, hoping that she could entice him into dreaming of a better future. "One of the last times you spoke, you complained about how expensive wool was in a march that produces almost a quarter of the Kingdom's wool. You said it was because your family had to sell most of the wool outside the march in order to keep from sending tithes of cattle, swine, and grain."
"Socks or soup," Loman said, pursing his lips in thought as he remembered their conversation. It felt so long ago, and so different from the one they were having now, that it might as well have been a dream or a fairy tale, but he remembered the point he'd been making well enough.
