Chapter 77: Streets of Gorthmorde
No one stared.
No one threatened.
They just drank, laughed, argued, and sharpened blades, living the rough, busy life of those who guarded the city's edges.
Lots of sharp toys.
Ren noted silently, his mental voice curious but cautious.
They're crunchy. Strong. Don't let any of them step on my tail.
I'll bite their boot laces off. I mean it.
Hannah's lips twitched again.
She gave a quiet mental reply — I'll watch your tail. Don't bite anyone. Please. — before she stepped back outside for a moment to lead Bess to the inn's attached stable, stroking her muzzle gently.
The Silver Oak's stable was a sturdy, stone-walled extension at the side, clean and well-kept, with a burly stable hand sweeping straw near the entrance.
The air smelled of hay, warm oats, and faint pine, a sharp but comforting contrast to the tavern smoke inside.
"Stay quiet, girl. No more trouble for now. The stable's warm. You'll like it better than the cold roads."
