Bree was quaint. A little too quaint for what Es and Nen were used to, despite whatever impressions they gave the locals.
They rode south of Bree, into Herne. There, lodgings were secured. A house; more spacious and furnished more finely than the Breeish cottages they'd looked into. For now the stowaway could rest easy with her creature comforts. Security, privacy, a bath. Simplicity was needed while Esgaulegor regathered himself.
Over time, Es had begun to sober. Bit by bit, until his jagged, death-seeking, devil-may-care decision making sharpened. Slowly, through the recent fog, confronting 'What now?' became another puzzle piece to identify and fit. No longer a cliff off which to figuratively throw himself.
The woman Narelin had given Es an invitation to a party of some sort. He was less invested in the idea of a party, and more in the notion of learning more about her and other individuals on a more personal level. Korvynn, Lemrad, Nero. Strangers who had met on one night of drinking games. Somehow they got along well. It was not difficult to get a quick read on these people, compared to some. Es shook none of his vigilance, however.
You know attachments will be inconvenient, later.
I'll not run. This is intentional distance.
How long will it last?
Long enough.
He thought again of the stowaway. A little too pretty for her own good. A little too many things for her own good.
She lit up every time he took her to engage the locals. A socialite. Perceived, he understood, as his woman.
Spare me.
It made enough sense, given how far they had traveled alone together.
These simplistic people would forget them before they were out of sight, anyway.
Soon it would be time to seek some more meaningful work. If the stowaway was to continue traveling with him, they would need to cover one another in a scrap.
Or maybe she was biding her time to kill him in his sleep.
