Teba whined as he padded out onto the frosty front lawn of the Hammer and Harp. He gingerly stepped towards where a young man was saddling his horse, and gave one sharp bark to get his attention. The young man turned, his golden earrings dangling, to look at the dog. He gave him a sad smile.
"Come, now, Teba," he said, muttering in his native tongue. "It will only get colder."
The black wolfhound whined again, as the man finished his task and set about pulling himself up and onto the horse, Khudala. The great black steed offered no complaints to the cold, though the man wondered how long that would last. He himself was wrapped up in a layered, violet coat, gloves, and boots. He knew, soon, that he would need a cloak and hood. He cursed himself for not opening the letter sooner upon his return. It had been waiting for him in his room, but he had been caught up with... Other matters.
The young man sighed, his breath visible on the frigid air. Images of blond hair ran through his mind for a moment, and he shook his head to get rid of them. He had a long road of riding ahead, and he had to be focused on the right kind if he didn't want to end up in a ditch somewhere.
With a wry smile, he patted the makeshift basket he had prepared for Teba, and the well-trained hound took a short leap, up and behind his master. Luckily for Khudala, Teba was young and lean beast, and offered little in the way of extra weight. Nothing the great, noble horse could not handle. The horse, urged on by its rider, trotted around and out of the stable, and down the road a short distance before it was stopped by a gentle knee.
Djeru turned around, giving one last look at the smoke billowing out of the tavern chimney. The smell of the roasting pork, the sounds of Dwarven song, the taste of Elven mead, and the rolling of wooden dice all rushed through his mind, and a tear met his eye.
He would miss this place.
"On, Khudala... Let us leave it behind, so that I do not look back and blur my vision."
