By the time night fell, Marek reached a small town nestled in a valley between two hills. He had been walking for hours, leading his horse by the reins, too tired to ride. The animal was as worn out as he was, its head low, its breath fogging in the cold air.
The town was not as large as Lunareth. The street was lined with wooden buildings. Lanterns were lit along the main road, and a few houses had lights in the windows. At the far end of the road, the sound of laughter and raised voices spilled from a tavern. It was a two-story wooden building with a creaking sign.
He tied his horse to a post outside and gave it a small pat on the neck. He studied the street for a moment before crossing it to the building. The noise hit him immediately.
