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Ravennar
Ravennar had listened to Heather with great attention. He could not help asking himself whether she really was journeying alone only because she was the only one that had a reason to be on that journey, or whether her solittude was not due- as was his- to some kind of pride. Maybe she did not even realise that it was so. But what was he to do? The best thing for both of them was for him to mind his own business and stop digging into other people's pasts. He had his own to worry about.
Ravennar looked arround him, inspecting all the happy and carefree faces that he saw, and listening to their meaningless and yet pleasant talk as if it was something new and fascinating to him. He smiled as he caught Heather's eye.
"Great place, this inn," he said, voicing his thoughts aloud. "One could hardly expect rash words to be spoken here. One could hardly think that one's life could change in a place like this. Such are the inns of my country, also-or so I thought them to be. Strange, is it not, how strife can find a home even in the most peaceful places?"
He stopped abruptly, realising that he had said more than he should have. This sounded too much like the beginning of some confession, and confessions were dangerous. He avoided Heather's eye, and thought uncomfortably of what her reaction to his words might be.
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