Kaelen sat at the table, his massive clawed hands wrapped around a tankard of something dark and foul-smelling. His yellow eyes stared at the door Jason had just exited through. His tail swayed slowly, a sign that he was thinking rather than preparing to strike. The lantern light caught the scars on his snout, making them look like rivers of old silver.
"I like him," Kaelen said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was a low rumble, like stones grinding together underground. "The little meat. He's got attitude. Not many creatures look me in the eye. He does."
Helga grunted. "He's got a death wish is what he's got. You saw him. Barefoot. Bruised. No weapons. No armor. He looks like he got dragged through a war and lost."
"Same thing." Kaelen took a long drink from his tankard, the dark liquid sloshing against his scars, then set it down with a heavy thunk.
