The Golden Perch Inn

[Ilya]

Widlast nodded, then realized he was acknowledging at the carvings in the woodwork instead of the innkeeper, and so nodded again, stooping slightly to get through the door. Inside, there was the usual yawning fireplace and scrubbed bar, these two markedly airier than the most he'd seen. A very easy place. But as he fixed on those who filled the room, it gave him such pause that he ran a hand through his hair again, which only mussed it further.

One elf in strange country was all well enough, but seated in the common room were at least two others of the fair folk, eating with a chil- no, he could see that one was another holbytla. "The doings here," he murmured."The doings here. Strange. Anyroad, your health and good horses," he spoke what he hoped would be a suitable greeting down to the innman, his eyes lingering on the embroidery of the holbytla's surcoat. He said no more, for then he spotted a table next to the fire, on which waited a steaming cup seemingly conjured out his thoughts. As he moved to the table, though, he realized it was a little table. Very likely he would crush the chair. Yet on the other side of the fireplace was a man-sized stool, so unslinging his haversack and resting his head on the warm stone, he nearly fell down upon it.