[Arry]

Ah! There it was!

The sun had broken through the clouds as he neared the path that would take him up to the Inn. A fine mist shimmered about the building and its grounds. Alwin blinked his eyes in wonder at the sight. Something out of faerie, it looks . . . he thought, leaning on his blackthorn stick. He had been gone a while, taking a friend to her homeland, and now was traveling through, bound north beyond the long river.

‘Wotcher lookin’ at, Sir?’ piped up a small voice at his side. Clive, it was. Or rather, Jack as he preferred to be called, thinking it made him seem more manly. Eleven years old and full of himself . . . Jack squinted hard at the building down the little lane. Ordinary enough, he thought. He looked up at his companion; the old fellow had that faraway look in his eyes, same as when he told Jack stories.

‘Come, Grandfather!’ he urged the old man. ‘Kiera said I was to watch over you. Keep you safe and the like.’ He tugged on Alwin’s grey cloak, smiling as the old man focused his blue eyes down on him. ‘Here you are, all standin’ in the mud and mist and such. The air’s still chilly from the rain. And I’m hungry. Aren’t you?’

Alwin chuckled at the boy’s insistence, reaching down his gnarled hand to ruffle the sandy-haired head. Looking back at the Inn, he saw the spell was broken. The Green Dragon stood sturdy and shining after the rain’s washing. Smoke angle up lazily from the main chimney giving promise of a cheery fire within. A sudden breeze brought the smells of the afternoon’s meal. The heady aroma of some rich soup enticed his nose and set his stomach rumbling.

‘Right you are, then Jack! I’ve a mind to put my feet up by the fire – a mug of spiced wine in one hand and a bowl of soup by the other. You run ahead, if you will, and find us a table close to the hearth. I’ll be there directly.’

The old man smiled fondly as the boy trotted off, calling out to him as he neared the Inn steps. ‘Mind you knock the mud off your boots, lad!’