The temperature had been falling since before dawn.
Cold clung to the corridor boards, and frost edged the windowpanes. Beyond the road, the line of trees stood darker against the pale sky. Storm weather, though not yet.
Behind the inn, Boro moved between the garden rows, adjusting the cloth covers Moss had laid over the plants the night before. The fabric had stiffened with frost. He pressed stones along the edges so the wind would not lift them.
Moss stood by the pig enclosure, scattering feed into the trough while the pigs crowded together inside the wooden fence.
Upstairs, Ruan moved along the corridor.
One traveller had asked for oil for her lantern. Ruan replaced it without comment and closed the door again.
Further along, two rooms waited.
He gathered the bundled sheets from the first and lifted the blankets from the second before carrying them toward an unused room at the end of the hall.
Dust lay along the windowsill.
He pushed the door open. Cold air slipped past him as the window creaked slightly on its frame.
Ruan shook the cloth across the bed and finished quickly.
When he stepped back into the corridor, a small movement caught his eye.
Something pale drifted near the wall.
A butterfly.
It moved slowly through the cold air, circling once near the stairwell before gliding downward.
Ruan watched it disappear down the stairwell.
***
By the time he reached the kitchen, the smell of cut vegetables filled the room.
Boro stood at the counter, carefully slicing carrots into a bowl. His large shoulders hunched slightly over the board as he worked.
Ruan set the bundle of sheets beside the basin near the washing area. The cloth fell softly against the pile of other laundry.
He had just turned back toward the hall when the front door opened.
Cold air slipped through the inn.
A soft knock sounded against the counter.
Ruan stepped into the main hall.
Someone was already standing there.
The traveller had reached the counter before he had.
Layers of dark cloth draped from her shoulders to the floor, the fabric patterned with shapes that resembled the wide eyes of moth wings. The outer cloak hung loosely around her, its edges brushing the floorboards with quiet movement.
Her hair fell pale against the collar of the cloak. From it rose two thin antennae that curved gently forward.
They remained pale and still.
Several small butterflies drifted in the air near her shoulders, their wings beating slowly in the warm air of the inn.
When one of them glided toward Ruan, the traveller turned her head.
"I heard you still have a room," she said.
"I would like to stay until the storm arrives."
Ruan said nothing.
He stepped behind the counter and opened the drawer.
The faint sound of wood sliding against wood echoed through the hall.
Only then did the traveller turn slightly toward him.
Ruan removed a key and placed it on the counter.
The woman reached out.
Her fingers searched briefly across the wood before touching the metal. Ruan nudged the key a little closer.
"Got it," she said softly.
"Thank you."
She paused.
"And."
Her head tilted slightly.
"I am not a witch."
Ruan did not answer.
After a moment he said, "Room near the window. End of the corridor."
The traveller nodded.
As she turned away, the small butterflies lifted from the counter and drifted ahead of her. They moved slowly toward the staircase, circling once above the first step before continuing upward.
She followed them without hesitation.
Ruan watched until they reached halfway up the stairs.
Then he closed the drawer.
***
By midday the inn had filled.
Snow melted slowly from travellers' cloaks onto the wooden floor near the entrance. Boro worked there with a mop, moving carefully around boots and chair legs.
"P-pardon… excuse me…"
The door opened often enough that cold air drifted through the hall in uneven breaths.
Outside, Moss stood near the well shaping two round mounds of snow. He studied them briefly before pressing small stones into the upper one.
Inside, bowls and plates moved steadily across the tables.
Ruan worked beside the kitchen counter, ladling stew into wooden bowls while travellers stepped forward one by one to collect their meals.
The room carried the quiet sounds of eating.
Spoons against wood.
Low voices.
At one of the middle tables, three travellers leaned closer together.
"The tarot lady…"
One of them lowered his voice.
"The one with the butterflies?"
"That's her."
"Saw her earlier."
A pause.
"I heard she can read things that haven't happened yet."
Another traveller snorted softly.
"I heard she tells people things they'd rather not hear."
Their voices lowered again.
Ruan rinsed a bowl in the basin and set it aside without looking up.
At the table, the travellers glanced briefly toward the kitchen.
One of them shifted as if about to speak.
But no one did.
They returned to their food.
Near the entrance, Boro wrung the mop cloth and stepped aside for a traveller passing through the door.
The room settled again into the quiet rhythm of a midday meal.
***
Evening settled early.
As the last travellers finished their meals, the light outside had thinned to a pale grey behind the windows. The door opened only a few more times before the road finally grew quiet.
Boro wiped the final table near the hearth and stacked the bowls beside the basin.
The warmth from the fire filled most of the hall. Only the space near the door still carried the faint chill from outside.
In the kitchen, Ruan tied the last knot on the rope stretched between two beams.
The hammock sagged slightly as he tested the weight with one hand.
"It holds."
Boro's shoulders relaxed.
"T-thank you, M-Master."
Boro picked up the broom and swept quietly as the kitchen settled into silence.
Ruan stepped toward the back door that opened to the garden. His hand had already reached for the handle when something caught his attention through the narrow gap in the frame.
A figure stood beyond the garden.
Far enough that the details blurred in the dim light, yet still clear enough to recognise.
A small bell sounded.
Soft.
Then again.
The sound carried faintly through the cold air.
Ruan closed the door.
The wooden latch settled into place with a quiet click.
The broom paused when the kitchen door opened again.
Ruan stepped aside as someone entered.
"G-Good evening," Boro said.
"Good evening, young man."
The traveller's voice carried softly through the room.
Her cloak brushed softly against the floor as she walked in. Several small butterflies drifted around her shoulders, their wings beating slowly in the warm air above the kitchen lamps.
Ruan turned toward her.
"Do you have a fruit?" she asked Boro.
Boro blinked.
"W-We do."
"Something rotten is fine."
Boro hesitated, then nodded quickly.
"I-I will check."
He set the broom aside and hurried toward the herb room behind the kitchen.
The door closed softly behind him.
For a moment the room grew quiet again.
The butterflies circled once above the table near the wall before settling against the edge of a hanging cloth.
Ruan lifted the kettle from the hearth.
"Tea?" he asked.
"Yes."
He took a small pouch of dried herbs from a wooden bowl and dropped the leaves into a cup.
Steam rose as he poured the water.
The woman tilted her head slightly toward him.
"I sense something from you."
Ruan placed the kettle back beside the fire.
"I heard the word 'Incomplete'."
The steam curled upward between them.
After a moment, Ruan said, "Aren't you more suited to being a witch than a tarot reader?"
She smiled faintly.
"Fortune teller… perhaps."
The door behind them opened.
Boro returned, carrying a small bowl.
"T-There are no more rotten fruits…" he said apologetically. "S-so I brought these."
Inside the bowl, several fruits showed darkened spots while the rest remained fresh.
"Thank you, young man."
Boro's shoulders lifted slightly in relief. He gave a shy smile before picking up the broom again and returning to the floor.
The traveller walked slowly toward the table.
The butterflies lifted and drifted ahead of her, circling once before settling along the table's edge.
She sat.
Ruan added another log to the hearth.
The fire shifted, sparks rising briefly before fading into the chimney.
He returned to the counter and began stacking the clean cloths onto the shelf.
The woman finished the fruit quietly.
When she stood again, the butterflies rose with her.
She stopped near the counter.
"I heard from my companions," she said gently, "that something lost is nearby."
The butterflies drifted toward the stairs, and she followed.
Ruan listened to the sound of her steps fading along the corridor above.
Outside, the lantern beside the road flickered once in the rising wind.
Then again.
Before the flame steadied.