Section 13

Seven

AT THE SIGN OF THE WANTON WYVERN

Do ye remember an inn, Tessyrana? Old and dark and rambling, lost in the arms of the wild woods a

long day’s ride from anywhere-but warm and firelit within, against the chill winds of the storm. The

smoke slung our eyes, and its old and spicy smell enshrouded us as it did everything eke in the house.

We climbed worn, curving stain away from the ready laughter and ale, into a candlelit room, a cozy

den nestled amid others in the night, carved out of low beams, gentle mutterings and creakings, and

uneven floors. And for one night, at least, that plain, tiny, and friendly little room was our home.