The Pearl Fox

Grim and Grey

There wasn't any wind in the village, although leaves fluttered and rickety gates went creaking as they opened and shut, opened and shut, on their own. They all had pale, colourless eyes, and some had bloodshot rheumy eyes, except for the witch named Ooria. Her eyes were an unusual beige, and her skin was black, and although  elderly, she was the most level headed and intelligent person there. She was in charge of that place.

"How can I help you?" Charsine asked. This must be worth her while for the journey to get here wasn't comfortable and she described it as her least favourite travel.

Ooria used a walking stick made from ash wood. She leaned on it and wanted to sit down. Neither villager attempted to help her. Charsine looked at Cherin, who understood. Cherin went over to Ooria and helped her sit down on a nearby tree stump that was once a white oak tree that was chopped a while ago. Ooria didn't thank Cherin, but she looked hard at Charsine and spoke with an unnerving toadlike voice. "We wanted you to come."

"What can I do for you?" Charsine was growing impatient.

"Help us."

"And how may I help you?"

Ooria looked at each of Charsine's companions. "These are only some of your hunters. I never expected you to bring them out here but it doesn't matter. They're welcome here, just as you are."

She's not answering my question! thought Charsine. She felt it was time to drop politeness and become straight and to the honest point. "Ooria, we've come a long way from Luniapolis and spent days and nights out in the wild, passing few lodgings. We're tired and hungry. We just want somewhere to sleep and get decent food. Then I will talk to you. If you won't, we'll be on our way and you can wait for someone else to sort things out."

The witch Ooria of the "evil eye" looked across at the innkeeper, then she looked back to Charsine. "Yes, of course, Lady Charsine. I knew this as much. Sorry for our rudeness. Hanlor there is the landlord of the inn, and he'll serve all you weary travellers cooked meals and rooms to stay in tonight. The cider is bad, it's been lingering for so long in a broken barrel. The ale is fresh, wine is from the cellar, and you're welcome to visit our shops. We sell handmade jewels, clothes and weapons."

The inn was not how it had been earlier. Now it was full of warmth and a fire blazed in the hearth. Ale and wine was served and it tasted well, despite one or two bugs floating on the surface of their drinks. The inn landlord Hanlor had twin sons called Hanoi and Hans, in their mid twenties, both with pink eyes, greyish complexions and who were also unsmiling mutes. They worked inside the inn, cleaning or lifting barrels and tables to sweep under them.

Charsine sipped her cup of sour black wine, and flinched. It wasn't as fine as the rich black wines from the vineyards of Penella and Starnut. This stuff was awful cheap homemade plonk mixed with cow dung. She flicked the dead insects off her black wine, and set the cup down angrily. A bowl of green bean and leek soup, and a plate of warm buttered bread, was set in the centre of the table that they all shared. The others immediately lifted their soup bowls to their mouths and drank. Charsine was the only one who ate the soup using a spoon. A dish of cheese covering roasted goose was placed there, with wild berries and shrivelled apples covered in honeyed gravy. There was no more sign of Ooria for the rest of that day. Talking to the other villagers was impossible as they hardly spoke and some never heard her. Soon, Charsine's companions filed up the stairs to their rooms for an early sleep. Only Barrow stayed with Charsine as she ate the slowest.

"Barrow, we're leaving," Charsine announced.

"My lady, would it be best to resume our journey home in the morning after we've all rested?"