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Tavaro stamped the dirt from his boots and shook his cloak a bit, encouraging the dust from his travels to find another resting place. The others having gone in, he stood for a moment at the closed door of the inn, debating once again whether he would rather spend the night in the open, beneath the starred sky or enter the confines of the Perch.
His left hand came up, making the decision for him it seemed, and pushed open the door. A rush of warm air, flickering light, and the smells of wood smoke commingled with those of pipeweed and food washed over and around him. Voices rose and fell amidst the clink of mugs against each other, laughter wove about them. And it was a merry sound, he thought, inviting. His boots followed the entry of his staff as it tapped lightly on the wooden floor of the entryway.
Spying a small out of the way table where he could observe the goings on in the room, Tavaro made his way toward it, slipping gracefully among the other, more crowded tables. An accommodating server took his order – hot tea and honey and a bowl of that enticing stew if there were any left.
There, nearer the fire was the Dwarf he’d heard tell the tale of Smaug. With several other of his kin....and two young Elves. And just coming back into the room was the boy he’d sat next to. As he waited for his food and drink, he drew out one of his small books and a piece of hardened charcoal wrapped on one end in a scrap of cloth. He looked closely toward the table of Dwarves and began to sketch them.
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