“ hey, beodog! catch! ” dew throws a drawstring pouch of 4k gold like it were some dangerous projectile aimed to hurt. of course, there is no remorse on his face. “ go get drunk or whatever it is ya like t'do! just don't expect me t'do it again. ” birfday hours? birfday hours.
Beowolf instinctively throws his arms up to catch the (fairly heavy) bag. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t try to duck--he’s so tall in comparison to Dew that a shot aimed at his torso would’ve just hit him in the head instead.
He knows what it is immediately, even before Dew elaborates--he’s a mercenary, of course he knows what a sack of coin feels like. It’s not surprising to be given money--many people in their army have received some sort of dubiously-acquired gift from Dew at least once. What’s a surprise is that...he bothered to give him something extra today. With a festive (for Dew) greeting to boot!
“Ha! Looks like ya know very well what the best kinda gift in the world is. Much obliged, pal. I’ll make sure this coin doesn’t go to waste.”