Enveloped within her shadow, he dared look into her face and wished in vain for the ability to mimic her dance of the eyebrows. "Not going to be too long, are you?" he said softly.

She reached out and lightly caressed his jaw. Without saying a word she tugged on the top lip of his hood, pulling it forward until it completely covered his face. He gasped, terrified of more damage to his ears, but the cowl moved freely across the cap underneath without causing any further pain. Unaware of what she had done, May then turned and bounded down the stairs as if she had done nothing more than playfully tease her bothersome pest of a baby brother. It took him a few moments to calm his nerves. He watched her saunter out the inn's door, thinking she had changed so much from the first time he had laid eyes on her.

Once he had recovered his composure, he stuffed one pack against himself and the wall for an arm rest while holding the other in his lap. He shook his head, remembering she was the reason why he had lost badly needed bounty money for the bear that had nearly killed him. She was also the reason why he was still breathing, that is if she was Condidan's killer. He knew for a fact she was responsible for the spot on the top of his skull that was still tender to the touch.

He had awakened from that blow to the head to find himself splayed across a table in a cold room and wearing nothing but his braies. She had played with him as a cat toys with a mouse, all the while judging him with piercing brown eyes that held no warmth. She had let him go only to chase him down with very little effort and then had nearly killed him with a sliver of a knife. He flexed his shoulder, remembering how easily the blade had slipped under his armor. It had ripped open his skin with ease, the poison it carried burning through his blood as he crumpled like a dead thing. The wound felt completely healed but the memory sent ripples of uneasiness down his spine.

The pack he'd placed in his lap shifted and he absentmindedly pulled it back into place. Then of all the strangest things to happen, she had fainted that first night in Timbermaw. The furbolgs had locked her up in a room without any light for several hours while he had met with their leaders. It did not make sense that that was all that was necessary to make her break like a piece of glass. The next morning she had awakened a different person – fearful and shy – and for the first time he had seen her for the child she truly was. Yes, it was good to see her regaining her confidence.

Again the pack slipped down his legs and he reached for it, barely catching it by its straps. There was a moment of resistance and he realized someone was under the table pulling on it. He kicked with one foot, only to feel a sharp pain lance across his ankle. He kicked with both feet and then bent down to look under the table. Nothing. He stood and angrily glanced about the inn but no one met his eyes.

Then with a pang of freezing terror he realized how stupid he was acting and sat back down, coughing into both hands to hide his face. He had let his temper get the better of him and in that moment of blinding anger he had nearly destroyed everything they had accomplished. He closed his eyes and thanked every god he could think of for that moment of charity. Then with trembling fingers he busied himself with arranging the packs so the rogue – he was certain of that now – would not be able to steal them.

Finally satisfied their possessions were safe, he concentrated on what he could hear through the music to learn about his surroundings. There was a sudden burst of hissing and spattering and he looked up to see a cloud of steam rise up the stairwell from the kitchen below. He wrinkled his nose at the strange smell, not sure if he found it completely offensive or not. Then he realized he was reminded of how dwarves would steep raw meat in beer before cooking it – it did have some of that odor. He frowned at the memories that came rushing at him; of desperation, betrayal and friendships long lost.

Movement at the inn's doorway caught his eye; May had returned. She ducked into the kitchen and shortly thereafter came up the stairs to him.

"It's not going to be too hard to get some horses," she whispered as she pulled her chair closer to his. "There's a stable at the back that has only one guard."

He twitched his hand across the tabletop as a signal for her to stop for a moment. "There's a rogue in here," he whispered. "They tried to steal one of our packs."

She immediately went still and stared back at him. He waited for her to speak but her complacent face betrayed nothing. She nonchalantly leaned back in her chair.

He sighed. "I don't think much of horses," he said, when it was obvious she wasn't going to comment about the other rogue. "They're worthless out here. There's no forage for them and they're stupid. Most animals in the wild consider them – and their riders – easy meals on the hoof.

"Wolves, now, can hunt for their own food," he continued in answer to the faint smile twitching her lips to one side. "And to ride a wolf is exhilarating."

"Yes, exhilarating when they consider you as a snack for later", she said with wry humor. "Hand over my pack. We're leaving."

He tossed hers to her then brought up his leg to check for damage. There was a faint mark across the top of his ankle but the skin hadn't been broken. Neither did the soft leather of his shoe show any cuts or tears. He stood and shrugged into the straps of his pack and followed her out the door.