The Green Dragon Inn - Part 8

[piosenniel]

Camlost, the crow

From his perch on the gutter of the stable, Camlost could see the comings and goings of the Inn’s patrons as they trudged down the muddied road. The rain had passed, and the traffic to and fro had picked up as the sun brightened in the sky, burning the clouds away.

Old Yellow Eye – that is what some of the Orcs had called it that he’d had the misfortune to meet in the Misty Mountains. They’d cursed it and shaken their gnarled fists at it as they scurried below - to the shadows and welcoming darkness of the caves at the mountains’ roots. Camlost had grown to enjoy this spectacle and praised the sun each time it rose. Orc-chaser, he called it. Its rising meant he was free to roam about the wooded hillsides, hunting for small animals when he could, or picking at the remains of what ever the Orcs had killed. Thoughts of food filled his mind. He had slept for a long while, and now his bird belly ached with its emptiness.

Gnawing hunger made him brave. He flew down to a small window that had been thrown open to catch the afternoon’s light and warm breezes. Landing on the shutter, he cocked his head and peered in cautiously. The two-foots were all chattering like magpies to each other and enjoying the liquid refreshments of the Inn.

He sailed in silently through the window, flying quickly with only a few hushed beats of his wings to the shadowed cross beam just above the bar. With any luck one of the diners would leave some scraps (and a swig of ale, he hoped), which he could partake of.

Camlost settled in. He was a patient bird once his goal was set in his mind. He could wait . . .

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:12 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]