Tim and Jace lead me into a well lit and lovingly kept tavern. The common area is about filled to bursting, the round tables and chairs littering the common area taken by large families and groups of individuals. Large fires crackle in set stone, keeping the chill out from a somewhat nippy fall evening. A bar is affixed to the floor on the left. Straight ahead lays the largest fire with the head of an elk set above it. To the right is a large lounge area with children playing while a few teenage keepers watch to be sure no one gets hurt accidentally. The cordoned off cubby has age appropriate games, with dollies, round balls, and stick figurines and children.

The floor has fresh threshing underfoot. The tables are blight free, and I can scent the gently spiced mead and delectable deer soup. Yet, underlying it all is a sense of blood and exhaustion and the metallic hint of battle weary folks.

Many of the townsmen have bandaged limbs or limp between tables. A few have weeping gashes covered with temporary bandages. What surprises me is how few of the actual town guards are here. I count maybe ten red and silver uniforms total out of at least two hundred people milling about the inn.

Many women are at the tables with their manfolk, most cooing over them.. but in one specific case berating the man for getting injured. Her voice rises above the murmur, drawing eyes and a wince from the poor man.

“Sir Wolf!” a little voice cries.

All eyes turn towards us at the loud cry. I cough and my eyes grow wide at the attention. I'm distracted when I’m almost toppled like an oak tree by an ax at the force of a little pup crashing into my legs.

I chuckle as Jace supports me, keeping me upright. “Hi there, little rider. How are you?”

I slowly bend down on her level; careful to show only non-aggressive movements. I keep an eye on the townsfolk. Some watch with small smiles, but most grip the pommels of swords and knives, as if to protect the girl should I attack. A card drop could be heard in the dead silence blanketing the room.

Shasta’s lip trembles. “I... I thought you were going to die, Sir Wolf. I heard your screams. They hurt you so bad.”

I wrap my arms around her shaking frame. Who cares if I get stabbed by showing her compassion? Well... I might, but this little one needs comfort more.

“Hey, hey now, I’m ok. It takes much more than that to kill a Kursk,” I say, keeping my voice soft and steady.

“Really?” She sniffles, her voice muffled.

I nod. “Plus, I had to come back and check on my rider. You did so good. Such a brave pup.” I rustle her hair.

Her entire little face lightens with a smile... then drops again. “Will those bad men come back?” she asks, bottom lip trembling.

“They might, but if they do, we’ll beat them off again, just like last time. Would you be my helper again?” I ask.

“How could I help?” she says, her bottom lip pushing out, “I’m not big and strong like you.”

“It’s not strength here that makes you strong,” I flex my muscles, and she giggles. I smile at her before pointing to her heart, “it’s who you are in here that makes someone strong. You can help by making sure all the young ones stay hidden, safe, and quiet while we all battle those outside. Come up with games and help them not be afraid. Can you do this?”

She looks seriously at her heart before meeting my eyes with the fire of a Shifter. “I can.”

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I rustle her hair. “Brave rider.”

“He’s just a boy,” a whisper reaches my ears.

I look over at one townsman who fought through the night. His clothes are stained with blood, but he seems to be unharmed. He is old enough to be my father, although corded muscle and the callouses of a hard-working farmer remain. When my black gaze reaches him, he seems to fight a grimace. Something I’ve never been able to overcome with anyone other than Kursk. I even scare myself if I look in the mirror for too long into black eyes that seem to pierce the soul.

“No disrespect,” he quickly says as he realizes I heard.

I slowly shake my head. “None taken. But the boy died long ago. Only a... a monster in a boy’s body remains.”

“So it’s true. Kursk truly can’t die,” a woman says. She meets my gaze, fear evident as she recoils.

I glance away. “No, I’ve seen many of my kind die. Have killed them myself.”

A young man about my age comes over. “So is silver truly something that works on Kursk?” he asks, chewing on a piece of wheat.

“... yes.” I respond, unsure exactly where this is going.

His brown eyes flash with mischief. Uh-oh.

“So... does being this close to it hurt?” he asks as he holds up a silver spoon directly in front of my face.

My knees give out as they decide being that close silver is all they can handle. I quickly lean on Tim to catch myself. He holds my elbow and watches me with a wary eye. Fire fills his eyes as his shoulders pull back and he goes to defend me from this prankster.

Surprising everyone, including myself, I chuckle before Tim can get a word out.

“If a silver arrow doesn’t kill me, I’m sure your spoon will,” I say, still smiling.

You, my young protege, are finally understanding the art of cynicism, my inner voice says, sounding delighted and much too smug.

I struggle to keep the smile on my face. I want to slap the voice, but that would mean slapping myself, so... yeah.

The jokester grins and throws the spoon at a man sitting at the bar, almost clocking him on the head. He turns back to me while the man at the bar glares at the back of the trickster's head.

“Sorry mate. Didn’t mean to hurt ya. Just curious.” He sticks his hand out. “Name’s Logan.”

I eye his hand warily.

He chuckles. “No, it’s not coated in silver or anything nefarious.”

I give him a small smile as I shake his hand. “Had a brother just like you. He turned my skin pink once from beet juice. Had to deal with snickers for a whole day before I figured out how to wash it out.”

He flat out laughs as people around the tavern chuckle and relax. They must’ve decided I’m not going to go all Wolf on them.

“I’ll have to remember that one,” Logan says, the gears already spinning behind his eyes.

I squeeze his hand just a little tighter than normal, getting a slight wince he tries to hide. “Try that on me and you will be stuck in the woods. In your underwear... with your silver spoon,” I add on as an afterthought.

Tim chuckles. “You be too kind-hearted for that.”

I shoot him a mock glare. “A Kursk? Kind-hearted?” I shake my head, then hiss loudly, “Don’t be giving away my secrets, Tim! They’ll lose all respect!”

A loud round of laughter goes through those gathered. The fighting men give nods of respect, as if I passed some test. Most go back to whatever they were doing before, but a few come over.

“You look like you’re about to fall flat on your face, son,” the Brown-Eyed man says.

“Sir, can I get your name? It seems disrespectful to keep calling you the Brown-Eyed Man in my head.” I shake my head. Did I just say that?

“Forgive me, Roland. I never introduced myself. My mother is rolling in her grave," the man says, shaking his head as a red tint comes to his weathered cheeks. "The name is David; and yes, you did say that.”

Everyone around me chuckles. Tim throws my arm once again over his shoulder and leads me to a private room in the back. There are other chairs placed around the circular table in the center, but the chair they lead me to is padded to ensure comfort. There are lanterns set around to provide warm lighting and a fire blazes in the hearth.

My shoulders relax as I realize we are alone in this room. No chance of someone sneaking up behind me. A look around brings the knowledge of a door at the back that leads outside, and a window that allows rays from the moon to light up the small room. I scoot my chair until I’m under the light. I roll my shoulders as the moon fills me with more strength than I have experienced since my family was taken.

Jace opens the door leading into our room to signal a waiter to bring about some dinner.

“Did the healer put something in my tea? I normally don’t blurt out every thought that crosses my mind,” I ask, keeping my face carefully blank.

“She put a pain reliever herb in with the chamomile to help you sleep. It has the added benefit of making the drinker more forthcoming. Not that the wild Shifter would listen to a wise old lady and rest, now would he?” The healer clucks from where she’s nursing her own cup of tea at the table.

Herbs can do WHAT? I was joking. Turns out, jokes on me.