Howling winds and clapping thunder sent the stragglers scurrying for shelter. The dim, cobblestone streets lit up with each crack of lightning, briefly revealing a small, lone figure trudging through the downpour. Her cloak billowed behind her, sodden and clinging, as she pressed onward toward the nameless tavern at the end of the alley.
Stopping wasn't part of Maeryn's plan—she still had miles to go before she'd call the night done—but fate, as always, seemed to have other ideas. A warm meal, a stiff drink, maybe even a proper bed for once… she couldn't exactly say no.
The door groaned on its hinges as she pushed it open, stepping into a wall of warmth and noise. The heavy scent of ale, sweat, and smoke wrapped around her like a scratchy old blanket. Maeryn crinkled her nose but said nothing, hazel eyes scanning the crowded tavern with a soldier's sharpness before making her way to the bar.
The innkeep was busy shouting orders to the barmaids and hadn't heard her approach. He certainly didn't see her—until a small, calloused hand reached up and dropped a leather pouch onto the counter with a heavy thunk of coins.
The old man blinked and leaned over the bar. When his bleary eyes finally landed on the dwarf, he let out a startled laugh. "Gods above—sorry, lass! Didn't see ye there!"
Maeryn didn't answer right away. Her gaze flicked once more across the room—taking in the rough crowd, the flicker of a hearth fire, the slouching figures hunched over their tankards—before returning to the man.
"I'd like a room for the night," she said, voice steady but hoarse from the cold. "Hot stew. Ale. Please."
The innkeep gave a nod. "Aye, I can do that. Take a seat, one o' my girls'll bring your key with the food. For now—on the house." He poured a generous mug of ale and passed it across the counter with a crooked smile.
She took it with a murmured thanks, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug like it was the last hearth on the edge of the world.
The tavern was packed, but Maeryn eventually found an empty chair near the fire. A few patrons turned to look—some with curiosity, others with the sluggish suspicion of men halfway drunk. She ignored them.
Climbing onto the seat was a task in itself—her legs weren't quite long enough for human furniture, and she had to wiggle, grunt, and hoist herself up with an unflattering amount of effort. Once she was settled, though, she exhaled and finally let her shoulders relax.
The first sip of ale was a balm. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring it. Then she opened them again and watched. Watched as others drank and played at cards, as laughter rose in bursts like sparks from the fire, as secrets passed in low tones across shadowed corners.
Her gaze lingered on two men at a nearby table, locked in a tense game of skill—taking turns throwing daggers at a crudely drawn target nailed to a beam. One of the blades quivered in the wood, just shy of the center. The men barked and jeered, slapping the table with wild grins and drunken bravado. Maeryn watched them for a moment longer, then looked away, her expression unreadable.
She simply sat and listened—just another face in the flickering light, cloaked in stormwater and silence.
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