Ashan 15, 717
Fate was rarely grand in the way storytellers and writers often made it out to be. It was much smaller, like most legends were when examined up close; it lived in small moments, in passing glances on busy streets and accidentally leaving something behind.
As it had been two days earlier, Cailurion was returning to home after settling Odd Thing in for the night. The sun was on its way toward setting, though not yet there; everything had a pale glow to it, and the city of Na’hear rustled with a thousand hands finishing up the day’s work.
By chance, Cailurion chose to duck into the Golden Flask tavern, just to rest her feet and see if any food was decently edible today. It was relatively calm––the main body of patrons had not yet arrived––and a soft, anticipatory calm was settled over the place. The barmaid cleaned and checked her wines and glasses, while the three servers drifting about were rolling their shoulders and cracking their knuckles to prepare themselves for the rush. There were a few early patrons, mostly those who simply wanted to drink and leave when the crowd arrived, and Cailurion herself thought she might be one of them.
Although not a regular, the Ithecal was distinctive enough that one of the servers recognized her. The young man padded over with a nod of greeting.
“Water again?”
“Yes.”
“Aye. I’ll look in back and see if the cook has something for you also.”
“Thank you.”
Cailurion took a seat in the corner, as shielded by the fireplace as she could manage. Though the Ithecal were respected enough in Na’hear, it was still quite difficult to escape notice; she hoped that sitting out of the way would at least make her less immediately obvious.
It wasn’t as if she intended to stay long, after all.
Fate was rarely grand in the way storytellers and writers often made it out to be. It was much smaller, like most legends were when examined up close; it lived in small moments, in passing glances on busy streets and accidentally leaving something behind.
As it had been two days earlier, Cailurion was returning to home after settling Odd Thing in for the night. The sun was on its way toward setting, though not yet there; everything had a pale glow to it, and the city of Na’hear rustled with a thousand hands finishing up the day’s work.
By chance, Cailurion chose to duck into the Golden Flask tavern, just to rest her feet and see if any food was decently edible today. It was relatively calm––the main body of patrons had not yet arrived––and a soft, anticipatory calm was settled over the place. The barmaid cleaned and checked her wines and glasses, while the three servers drifting about were rolling their shoulders and cracking their knuckles to prepare themselves for the rush. There were a few early patrons, mostly those who simply wanted to drink and leave when the crowd arrived, and Cailurion herself thought she might be one of them.
Although not a regular, the Ithecal was distinctive enough that one of the servers recognized her. The young man padded over with a nod of greeting.
“Water again?”
“Yes.”
“Aye. I’ll look in back and see if the cook has something for you also.”
“Thank you.”
Cailurion took a seat in the corner, as shielded by the fireplace as she could manage. Though the Ithecal were respected enough in Na’hear, it was still quite difficult to escape notice; she hoped that sitting out of the way would at least make her less immediately obvious.
It wasn’t as if she intended to stay long, after all.
