Whether I intended to make an entrance or not, the choice was never mine to make, when the power of a terrible storm whipped the handle of the door from my fingertips, which I had no option but allow, less I be robbed of my hand along with it. I had no doubts that under these circumstances, my arrival was not a welcome one, as the wind howled like a demented wolf and engulfed many in its wave, with the threat of toppling them from their aged chairs. Yellowed and bloodshot eyes winced in my direction, but I was in no hurry to put an end to the elements I brought with me, knowing the unique and foul stench to cling to the 'Lion's Mane' like a rancid perfume. A fine mixture of sweat and vomit, made stronger by the heat of the roaring hearth and if I were to have any hope of breathing, I needed this fine aspect to lessen a great deal.

"for pity's sake girl, you'll bring the whole hoose doun!"

Wyman, the innkeeper, made a fair point and reluctantly I accepted the notion that despite my efforts, not even an influence from mother nature could be of any help to this place and I would have to suffice with a place closest to the exit, in case of any more arrivals to stir the air, or a quick getaway if my stomach could not stand it any longer. I admit there were many positives to outweigh the negative that kept me from turning my heel. The lack of a lashing from the rain for one, which had frozen me deep to my core, making the heat in the room enter my body like needle pricks, which I attempted to ease by rubbing my hands together and along my arms.

"Here take a seat an get tha doun ye. it'll dae ye good."

A honeyed liquor like a pool of gold was glided down the bar, where I took the weight of my legs after a long journey. My lips trembled around the cup, causing more than I liked to dribble down my chin rather than quench my thirst. Day's drinking water, I had missed actual flavour and soon ordered another, which Wyman happily complied with, knowing I kept coin in my pocket and had always paid what I owed, unlike the rest of his regulars.

After the third, I knew to pace myself now that I could string a couple of thoughts together, besides fixating on the motive to find shelter, and an element of my sanity returned, along with many other senses. I felt like myself again and leant back comfortably, appreciative that Wyman had no concept of opening hours and had energy enough to keep the inn open for whoever wandered in its direction, no matter the time of day or night.

I had deliberated admitting defeat and finding a cave somewhere near the mountains, during my utter desperation to cease walking in mud that was knee deep, but I pushed myself, knowing that my days of freedom had come to an end and if I were even a minute too late, a far worse fate was installed for me, than being caught in a storm. Even so, even if I weren't under duress, I was grateful to myself for the decision, because the mead did wonders and gave my cheeks a warm glow, but nothing benefitted me more than that I could refrain from being constantly alert to my surroundings in case of impending danger. It was the thrill I loved, but after a while it became rather tiresome, which must have been evident.

"you've got darker shadows under yer eyes, than whit a dragon coud cast wi its wings."

His large arms crossed and rested on the bar in front of me. There was little in the way of appeal when it came to the aging innkeeper. But there was an honest spark in his eyes, which made it so you knew he'd accept any stories to be thrown his way and he'd provide an opinion you could trust with the outmost secrecy. I'd seen him converse with many of his customer's; adulterer's, robbers, men who were broken by hardships they could not control or may have caused themselves. A moments conversation with Wyman is all it took to change their outlook on life; and I believe it bothered him that I had yet to share my own experiences. However, I couldn't pinpoint anything of enough importance to have such a meaningful conversation about and it did him no good to prod me with his gaze.

"well the only cure I can think of is a good night's rest. Know of anywhere I can achieve it, while I still have time that's my own to spend?"

I could cut my losses now and surrender myself in, since the great house whose dungeons awaited me, were only up the road from the village I resided in now, but I was a stubborn woman. The night is still mine and I don't mind dreaming it away.

A mischievous grin fought through the snow-white beard, "aye, but A know ye tae have a delicate nose. Ye might find the erm…stables a better suit. The air's fresher from whit i've been telt, bi none other than yerself actually."

I sighed heavily, feeling his words well up inside of me in the form of pure annoyance.

"I'm not in the mood to play games innkeeper."

He laughed, "well ma prices have gone up an A don't think ye coud cover yer drink an a room."

I pulled back my hood and copied his stance, leaning onto the bar top. A square jaw lifted and hardened by gritted teeth, he didn't so much as waver to my near perfect imitation of my mother when she was feeling particularly enraged and I was in no state to fight it out with clever responses.

"A know. A haven't been able tae get any good meat for some time now an truth be telt the kitchen is lookin a little bare. Hou aboot ye give me, half o yer hunt an we'll call it quits."

"you know I don't hunt deer"

He nodded, "nah, A know ye don't. ye prefer the birdies ay? harder tae shoot wi yer bow an a better way tae test yer skill. But that will dae, A suppose. Hou aboot it lads, pheasant, or duck in tomorrow's stew?!"

The inn shook with drunken cheers and I doubt it mattered if Wyman asked or not, because the likelihood of these men remembering was pretty low.

"half my hunt, and I get a room with a window?" I asked, before shaking his hand to seal the deal.

"that's whit i'm offerin."

I glared at the giant palm reaching out to me, expecting some sort of trick. Wyman was famous for them and had a fondness I found for targeting me. So, if there was an inside joke, I expect I will just have to endure it.

"fine."

We shook, with his grip like shaking hands with a full-grown bear, compared to my hand which didn't come close in being as rough skinned as his, which could draw blood. I don't know why his strength took me by surprise like it did. True, Wyman was a large man, but it wasn't through muscle. His stomach was the first thing to enter a room and while other men of his size, who I have come across before, are reddened and out of sorts by the smallest actions, such as walking, I have witnessed Wyman lift wagons to their side, for wheel repair and haul logs for chopping without breaking a sweat. A part of me considered, he very well might have been a soldier of sorts, for there was ever a war to be fought, especially during the years before my birth.

Reaching down at my feet, the woollen bag was soddened still from the rain, as I lifted it with the greatest of ease and dropped it before Wyman, whose brow began to furrow and contort his amused face to confusion.

"whit is this?"

I feigned misunderstanding, despite knowing full well that his question wasn't asked for its literal meaning. Instead, he wanted to know why there was so little, when he has always seen me having to haul plenty more bags than this, with scarcely any room for more inside them.

"why it's your cut."

I opened my solitary bag and dropped a single quail. A tiny creature that could fit in the palm of Wyman's hand, or two of an average person. To make good on the bargain, I allowed him to peek where the other was limp.

"half of my hunt," I announced, taking a final swig of mead and leaping off my chair, ready to be told where I'd be sleeping.

"hang on a minute here lass, this isn't enough!"

I eyed the tiny bird again on the bar and held back a laugh at the pathetic animal, that looked miniscule within the size of the room.

"half doesn't give an exact quantity in number. It's merely a fair share of what's owed and now you and I, both have a quail each. So, now comes your side of the bargain. Room with a window."

Like myself, the men were trying their best to hide their laughter. Disguising it with coughs or choking back their drink and averting their gazes to the ceiling, but an elderly farmer made no attempt.

"she's righ enough wyman, better let her thrae an get some rest!"

This allowed a few to follow in his lead and laugh some more as Wyman drummed his fingers on the partition which lifted, for access behind the bar and the stairwell. Truly, I didn't know what he'd do and wouldn't be shocked that I was slung out the door with even the offer of sleeping in the stables off the cards. However, he was a man of his word and eventually he permitted the room I was owed, although I did fear he might drop the partition as I made my way through, but he just smiled.

"first door tae yer left, lass. Sleep tight."

I hummed back a reply, knowing I'd spoken enough this night and any more words out of my mouth wouldn't be thanked or do me any good. Especially with that last statement of his, which I thought reeked of an underlying threat. If I wasn't so tired, I might have preferred my prison cell, only I couldn't deceive myself of that fact for even an innocent jest.

The stairwell was narrow and the steps at odd heights and often I used my hands to help guide me in the dark, making me out to be more drunk than I was. With a trip and a stumble, the first room on the left glided across my fingers and this time, I opened a door with far more ease and was met by far less stench, as the previous occupant had already left the window open for me.

"at least the rain has stopped," I commented, standing to peer at the trees bending at the prevailing wind, though the skies have cleared to reveal a starry night sky.

Perhaps one last night in the forest wouldn't have been so bad. One last night on a cushion of moss, singing a tune to keep the animals away, or making more arrows while the wood fire crackled. One last night of enjoying the simplicity of doing nothing. Where I would wake and have nothing planned out before me. nor could I predict the day; the sights I would see and the people I would meet, if any. I eat when I wanted, drank when I came upon a stream. Bathing and clothing myself without care for my appearance. It's not a life many would want. Nevertheless, there was enjoyment to be found that would keep me going until I am released again.

I discarded my cloak and bared my naked feet, stretching my toes as the soles of my feet pulsated. I savoured the feeling while unlacing my leather breastplate, which I had to pad on the inside to fill out, with a gambeson and tunic beneath. What I wore and could manipulate, then I did try to sow them to fit better to my frame. Only, these castoff clothes and armour when I received them, had seen better days then. Now I think another year will see them rot off my body.

The light tunic was what I had left and though I insisted on keeping the window open, it was still cold and raced to get beneath the covers as quickly as I could.

However, it seemed Wyman would indeed get the last joke.