“Aye, maybe,” Otto mumbled. He had been on several adventures, though he was not sure if he had a sense for such.
He watched the barmaiden move around the corner. She tilted
her head and smiled, though he was not sure to whom she batted her eyes. This
fellow seemed like the sort that kept the taverns running well, though Otto
admitted he knew nothing of the man to think such a thin.
He looked over the fellow. Despite his witty remarks, the
man was fearsome. Such nails! Otto had only seen such daggers on the eagles or
wolves! He was a dangerous-looking fellow – and likely an even deadlier
werewolf.
“I am Otto the Younger,” he said simply and offered his own
large hand to the beast before him. “Pleased to drink your ale.”
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