[Arry]

‘Well, now, who’s that, I wonder?’ Alwin stepped out into the puddled moonlight just beyond the clump of tall birches that stood sentry on the path leading up to the Inn. It had been a long journey these past three days from the Twilight Hills and the welcoming light from the Green Dragon gladdened his weary spirit. Leaning against his blackthorn walking stick, he’d sighed in relief at the promise of hot food, strong, sweet tea, and the comforts of a soft bed. Even now he could feel his old bones sinking into the mattress as he pulled the warm quilts over his tired legs.

An Elven maiden had passed up the path already, he noted, slowing as she approached the great oak tree which stood in the Inn yard. It was then that the movement of the small shadow caught his eye, the hint of a small hand, brief in the moonlight through the leaves, as it drew its cloak tight. The figure had disappeared against the dark of the trunk, and he could not make the features out, though he squinted his sea blue eyes hard at the darkened canopy. The Elf on her shining mount had moved on toward the Inn.

Strangers are best left to their own devices, he reminded himself, thinking on the small, quick hand he’d seen. No need for an old man to go poking about in another’s business. Still his gentler nature could not resist a whispered offer as he passed beneath the oak. ‘Come down, little one. The Inn is warm, and I’ve coin enough for the both of us to fill our bellies. No need for fellow travelers to be cold and hungry.’

In the shadows beneath the tree, Alwin stopped and drew his pouch of coins from his belt. He fished in it, bringing out several tarnished silver coins, and placed them on one of the tree’s great roots. They glinted here and there in the moonlight that dappled through the rustling leaves.

A few strides brought him to the Inn door. He tapped the soles of his boots with his stick, knocking the residue of an earlier muddy path from them, and shook his grey cloak free of the day’s dust. It was busy in the Common Room as he entered. The sights and sounds and smells nearly overwhelming his senses. But there to his right was a cheery fire, and straight ahead the bar. And there behind it, the Innkeeper, brandishing her rag along its top like a good sailor keeping her decks clean.

‘A mug of hot tea, if you please, Goodmistress,’ he asked, leaning against the bar. Alwin introduced himself to the woman as she nodded at his request. ‘And a trencher of meat and bread, if you will.’ He turned away looking for a table, then remembering his other need, turned back. ‘And a room, please. With a soft mattress and two quilts, if I may.’

He balanced his stick against the edge as he brought out his coins, and looked at the Innkeeper questioningly.