The moon shone down on the sleeping world in its eternal, seemingly omnipotent majesty, seeing and knowing all, but sharing none of its secrets. The night was cold; crisp autumn was slowly seeping into an unusually cold winter. The night's watchful, caring presence was not lost on the lone traveler in the black cloak, strolling down an old dirt trail with the help of a walking stick almost as tall as its owner, for she carried a profound limp without it. She smiled quietly to herself, walking in solitude and slightly amused that she could find such peace in something so simple as the night's presence.
She lifted her head, the hood falling back onto her shoulders, exposing the graying stripes of her fur, stripes that used to bear a striking contrast to the white accompanying them, now melting further and further into an odd, dusty kind of gray. The air was nicely frigid against her face, the moonlight as bright as high noon, easily lighting her way. Her dark, brown eyes followed a bright streak of light that left its temporary mark upon a small portion of sky. Odd, she thought, that after all she had been through, the wars, the bloodshed, staining her fur on the gore of vermin, that she didn't have higher standards of relaxation. At least, that's what he would have said. A great, warm smile graced her lips, thinking back to him. Yes, he would have wondered how silence could be solace, darkness a comfort. She chuckled softly to herself, an old song they had shared touching her lips, the memory so strong that she did not even realize she was singing out loud.
"Tonight, a hurricane....Touch me, hurricane...."
Her voice, still strong and sweet to hear (although old age had given it a slightly rougher edge), trailed off, melting into the night, another secret for the moon to keep. There, on her left, at the top of the next rise, was a large, black....mass. Like some beached monster of yore, it loomed above the road, casting its shadow against the sparkling moonlight. Her pace quickened, the cloak's bottom beginning to scrape up a tiny cloud of dust. There, she thought, is a perfect camp for tonight. She, like most creatures, enjoyed the outdoors and sleeping under the stars, but she preferred to have a comfortable bed and a warm room, a fact she had shared with few people during her lifetime.
The roadside inn, currently populated only by a mouse and his wife, was quiet, slow. They had had next to no visitors (customers, really, but there was really little difference between the two.) to their quaint housing for at least three days now. The husband, Nathaniel, was sitting at the bar, tapping a twig against the wooden counter. His wife, Aurelia, was staring out one of the windows opposite the road, a dazed, waking-comatose look in her eyes, her body being there but her mind somewhere far away, probably someplace where there were customers.
Three loud, heavy bangs reverberated, split, echoed, and refracted into and around the high, vaulted ceiling, causing both of them to jump to their feet in surprise. Seconds of dead, stony air passed between them, and each looked at the other, wondering if it was nothing but a phantom noise induced by boredom and stagnant imaginations, when it came again, three blunt, heavy blows onto the solid oak door. Nathaniel padded across the threshold slowly, fear and excitement filling him. A bang and a half in, he threw open the door, expecting a wolf, maybe, or some other terrible vermin that would kill him and take his wife. Instead, he was confronted by a tall, wide mass of dusty gray fur. His emerald eyes slowly trailed upwards, until they locked with hers. They crinkled gently as she smiled and said "May I come in?"
The mouse nodded quickly, stepping aside quickly. The huge badger passed him, graceful and elegant even in old age and hindered by the oddly tall cane. She placed her bulk in one of the chairs, reaching into a pocket and drawing out a small bag. It clinked lightly as it she tossed it on the table. "I don't know if you'll take this, but it's all I've got. A room and a hot meal are all I'm asking, but I'll just as soon take one before the other."
Aurelia smiled softly, her features betraying that she used to be painfully beautiful in her younger days. Now, though, she was just an old mousewife, who folded her paw over the pouch and pushing it back towards the badger. "We don't charge goodbeasts here, especially badgers. The room and the food are free." Nathaniel placed a steaming mug of stew in front of her and nodded slowly, taking a seat across from the giant. "Aye. Not like we could or would use your coins, they have no value here." The badger sipped at the soup once, amber eyes deep in thought. "Well," she said after a minute of deliberation, "let me repay you somehow for your kindness."
Nathaniel smiled at his wife as she sat next to him, covering her paw with his. "Well, ma'am," he started, "The wife and I have been running this inn ever since my father died and left it to us. One of the things we love most of all is to hear the tales of our guests."
The old badger slipped off her cloak, letting it fall over the back of the chair. "A tale, then, is it? Aye, I've got one, a real whopper. I would know; I lived through it." She leaned forward, the mice unconsciously copying her movement, cupping her mug and staring into it. "Many seasons ago, there came to my home an odd and amazing warrior...."