The patrons were growing restless as the elven wine was passed
around, but she refrained. She didn’t need her reflexes dulled
when the Shadowmere could be anywhere around her.
She tore off a piece of the stale bread and dipped it into the thick,
partially rotten stew she was eating. She gagged it down, not sure
when she would be able to eat again. She couldn’t afford extra
food and water, but hoped to find a dimension soon with
something in it to drink.
Her mouth watered at the thought of the juicy apples that would be
sitting, untouched, in the Valharan orchard. Eating the last of the
stew, she looked around again and caught sight of one of the
wenches sitting beside a ranger. They were kissing passionately,
and his hands were roaming all over her as their lips pressed
against each other.
Kyrin touched her lips softly, and had to admit she missed the soft
kiss Alric gave her when trying to gain her trust. She’d been
thinking more about him lately as loneliness set in. She missed his
company and how he was amused at her actions and words.
It didn’t matter. She’d been gone from Paragoy for a year, and she
knew that by now, Alric would have written her off as dead and
more than likely had a wife to keep him amused. She would
always remember his kindness and selflessness though, and she
thought of it often at night before falling to sleep under foreign
Kyrin reached down and unwound the bandages from her hand.
She had a run-in with one of the Dieb Consortiums, and though
she’d won, he managed to get a good dagger cut off on her hand.
The wound was inflamed and smelled bad, so she knew there was
an infection forming.
Picking up the wine one of the patrons had given her, she dumped
a small bit over the wound, hoping to kill off the gangrene that was