He walked over the worn road, a dusty, narrow, winding road that led all the way to the naval ports along the great waters. Otto had seen them long ago. He did not think of them now. His mind was on the spiced mead in the tavern just around the mint bush.
The cottages and huts grew dark with the sky, but the tavern was aglow and sang from its bursting yellow windows with song and laughter and yelling. Otto slinked in the door and pushed between the small circles that had formed. The counter was crowded, but being a giant and a warrior, the crowd parted ever so slightly for him. He did not look around him at first. He focused only on the mead.
A barmaiden with red locks and milky shoulders poured the mead. She must've been the girl Fin was so smitten with. Otto grumbled. He wouldn't be surprised if a lot more men were just as smitten with her. He pulled from the counter and found himself a spot at the long bench to watch and to drink.
The force with which Raivo slammed his empty glass onto the bar nearly caused him to fall off his stool. Grasping the edge of the counter with his free hand, he steadied himself, head spinning. So his reflexes still worked, in spite of his balance washing away with every drink he swallowed. Raivo took a moment to steady himself, a few slow breaths to make his head stop spinning.
ReplyDeleteRaivo risked a glance around the room. Crowded, full of faces either new or long forgotten. The smell was of musk, sweat, and ale, plausibly tolerable for a human, but with a heightened sense of smell, Raivo thanked the Gods alcohol dulled the senses. Though one scent stood out. The scent that invoked a sense of familiarity, kinship, and likeness. He was not the only one of his kind here tonight.
Turning back to the counter, he found his glass once again full. At least the wench had the hang of it. He would have to remember to tip her well, if he even made it out of the tavern conscious at the end of the night. Taking a sip, he spun on his stool once more, intent on locating the other werewolf. The brute on the bench might just be him.
"Keep an eye on that one," Raivo whispered to himself under his breath.