Random Writing – The Shadowed Corner

Hearth(Yet another tidbit, random writing, done.)

Tria had been given a dark corner, a carafe of mulled wine, and a simple goblet. Her cloak dripped dry on the chair beside her. For the rain, most at the combination tavern and inn were in their rooms. There would be few travellers coming in. The women and men that plied the trade of their bodies were probably up in rooms with customers already, and save for a loan bard with a travel-harp on his lap near one of the two fireplaces, well, a near empty room would yield few patrons for their art.

The headache and eyestrain caused by the Flash were beginning to wear off. This was helped, slightly, by the wine and the dark corner. The relative silence of the room did much to help as well, although the sounds drifting down through the floor boards were easy enough to ignore. Leaning against the outside wall, Tria could both hear and nearly feel the rain and wind as they battered the building. Through the slats of a shuttered window, Tria could see flashes of lightning, and distant rolls of thunder sound like a far off giant heading straight for the tavern. In terms of the ancient trees of the forest, the river and the trade road that ran by it, and for all that it was the only structure of civilization for at least 5 hours ride, the tavern felt a small thing in the path of warring gods.

She sipped her drink, placed down her goblet, and let her many braids out of their holdings. They fell to nearly the floor. She fluffed them out to dry, of a sort. She considered starting to journey again once the worst of the impending storm dimmed. She picked up her goblet and looked into the depths. She began to remember things that were her own. Memories of the childhood that was actually hers, the choices she had made, the many sights, and sounds and faded realities she had played at as a girl. She hated others for two reasons; others brought the Flashing, and others reminded her of the times she considered herself one of them, and how much she hated to be alone. She managed to forget the latter when she was off in the wilderness, making a life for herself in the forests.

She did not notice, so intent despising this nostalgia, that those in the room, save the serving maid and the tender of the bar, had all but left, drifting towards warm beds in shuttered rooms where the storm wouldn’t feel so close. She did not notice that, of all the patrons within the building, it was only she and the bard. She noticed not until he took the chair opposite her own and said, “So, will you be the one to stay in the room?”

“What?” She asked, drawn from her reminiscing with a controlled start.

The bard tuned his harp, although it barely needed it. “There is one in every storm. The one that sits and waits for the thundering love making of sound and light, wind and rain. The one that listens to the music of nature. There are those of us that travel more than we stay within the confines of civilization, if that this can be called, that fall in love with it and do not notice. Therefore, those of us that are such, do not seek our shelter the ways the other ones do. I am usually that one, for rarely have I found another. So, will you be the one who stays in the room?”

Tria looked at him. He had bright amber eyes which the low light in the room caught and twinkled on. His cloak was dry, and, like hers, his clothes were the clothes of the traveler; heavily proofed against wind and rain, warm and cool at the same time, as well as the muted colors of the forest. Yes, he was a traveler, but his eyes were normal, so he wasn’t that type of traveler. They regarded each other for half a mark, even as the server maid brought them more drink and even some complimentary food of the sausage, bread, cheese, and even a little butter, simple fare as food in such places for cheap enough to give for free. Finally, Tria nodded.

“I’m call Leander,” the bard stated.

“Tria,” She responded.

Leander motioned to the food, putting down his harp. “Shall we feast?”

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