[Thinlómien]

Thinlómien sat in the bar, though she'd have preferred being with the horses. They were less complicated and did not murder people. And she hadn't heard of horses turning to wolves by night yet... Though, who knows what Morgoth Bauglir designs...

She took a long sip from her pint and sighed. "What is this, the poor Glirdan mutilated and killed by the werewolves that seemingly are three amongst us, poor innkeeper Wilwa torn with grief of her friend's death and on the top of it, a stable without a stablemaster and with only one stablehand." She shook her head. "This isn't promising."

The young elf truned her gaze from the pint to her fellow villagers in the room. Her blue gaze fixed on Naria the haradrim warrior and Gil the dwarf. "Pancakes, you say? May I ask how do you think we will get rid of the werewolves by eating pancakes?" She tried to look stern, but aknowledging she wasn't any more help for the village in solving the problem than the two, she failed.

She cast a quick glance on the ranger, Meneltarmacil. She did not yet know was he a friend or foe, nor was he trying to make the discussion more sensible with accusing Gil and Naria for their pancake obsession that had nothing to do with werewolves or being as nonensical with his random suspects.

She took another sip. "Let's think. Drink. And discuss."