Darkness
falls and the shutters have been closed to keep out the howling winter
wind. The companions find a table by one of the two roaring fires.
Their extra gear can be seen stacked in the corner. A large pile of odd shaped bundles, boxes and packs. It radiates of power, firing the imagination of the other
patrons. “What is all that??” “How did they come by it all??” ”What perils must
they have faced and monsters slain to have found such wonders??” The
tired friends quietly eat, allowing the warmth of the meal and the fire to work
their own kind of magic. Their fatigue and cold dissolving
into the night. With the table cleared, and pipes drawn, they relax,
contemplating their next destination. “That’s a neat dog, can I pet him?” they hear a small, nervous voice say.
Turning, they see a young boy standing nearby. “He’s not a dog, young
one, he’s a coyote.” says the man in leathers. “But he says he’d love to
have his ears scratched.” Tentatively reaching out to scratch its ears,
in an awed voice, the boy asks, “Wow, a coyote? And he
talks to you? How? Where did you find him? I wish my dog
could talk to me. Does he talk to your friends, too? Will he talk
to me? I’ve never seen anyone like you and your friends. Where are
you from? How did you get all that neat stuff?” Smiling at his
companions, the man in leathers chuckles, “It seems we have found a man of a
thousand questions. Perhaps, between us all, we can answer one or
two. Would you like to hear our stories, my young friend?” “Oh would I,” beamed the boy, his excitement mirrored by the
other patrons. And so began the telling of….
ela
08/29/26