'Wonderful', he
muttered, sat down heavily on the nearest bed and sighed. 'How long?'
'How long what?',
Shirral dropped the saddlebags on the floor. They landed with a thud.
'How long will it take
the undead to get here?'
'Not very long, I'm
afraid. I hope they won't show up tonight. This time, escaping will be harder.
anyway, we still have some sunlight left. I'll go out and try to get a healing
salve for you. Don't open the door for anyone.'
He nodded, bidding her
goodbye. Without further consideration, he carefully laid himself on the bed.
His leg pulsed regularly with pain. All that from a single, not that powerful
blow. Just to think what would happen if it was stronger made him feel uneasy. Luckily,
he had a potion. And her.
A completely
unbelievable story. And a little funny, if you looked at it from the right,
that is, an unaffected spectator's, angle. Then again, there were no such
spectators to speak of. And that woman, sucking life out of a person? A sudden
chill went down his spine. He only saw her for a moment, but the image of her
face has embedded itself deep into his mind. All things considered, she was
rather....
His musings were
interrupted by Shirral coming in with a bowl of steaming stew.
'You should have
something warm to eat,' she said, offering him the food. 'The innkeeper isn't
as dumbfounded as the drinking rabble, so I got this without trouble. I bet you
hadn't had a proper meal in days.'
He sat up on the bed.
She was right. Ever since he left home, he hasn't eaten anything other than
travelling rations.
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