6 Frost 120
Faine stared down at the small pouch of coins in their hands, its contents lamentably lacking. The Fae sighed. It was going to be a hard season, and the day old bread they had been chewing on for dinner harder still.
Even with every advantage they had at their disposal, from Glamouring their metabolism to decades of experience in survival, Faine swore the bite of Frost air felt sharper than usual. It did not help that they had been forced to prune their hair once again, the weight of bare branches and brittle leaves having grown unbearable. Without a proper scarf, any snow on their head became icy unpleasantness that dripped down their neck. The slightest breeze nipped and their ears were eternally numb.
Festering nettles, how Faine hated Frost.
They walked past various merchants and hawkers packing up their wares, closing shop for the day in anticipation of warm meals and beds, no doubt. Sometimes, the Fae wondered how different life would be if they had chosen to live within the city proper. How comforting it must be to know there was always someone close by, ready to lend a hand or strike up conversation.
But then the thought of walls and sounds and smells followed, spreading with no end in sight, and the appeal faded as quickly as it had arisen.
A waft of warm air hit Faine's senses, drawing them back to the surface. They looked up to find that their feet had brought them to High Hopes. The tavern was as lively as ever, waves of laughter and clinking glasses rolling through amber windows, lifted high by the music of several bards.
Maybe it was the bitter cold. Or maybe it was just their growling stomach. Whatever the case, Faine stepped into the din without a second thought, eager to brush the snow off and find something warm to eat.
"And what will you be having tonight?" the barkeep asked, smiling wide and bright as Faine slid onto a stool.
It made them feel rather weathered, all of a sudden, seeing such deep dimples on rosy cheeks. They managed to muster some semblance of a grin in return. "Just a hot plate and jug, miss, please and thank you."
Some coins were pushed forth and not longer after were replaced by food and drink, as requested. Faine marveled at the speed of it all. The pace of city life never failed to surprise, even when they thought they had surely grown used to it. Out of the corner of their eye, they could feel the barkeep watching them as they dove appreciatively into the warm food, pausing only to sate their thirst with equal gusto.
"Haven't seen you around for a while," Astrid mused, head cocked to one side. Her dark hair gleamed in the light. "Thought maybe the wolves and bears had finally figured out how to outsmart you. That, or you've befriended them all and live like one big happy family. I have trouble deciding which is more likely."
Faine looked up in surprise, then grinned in earnest. "Nothing of the sort, miss. The snow makes it harder to travel is all."
Scoffing, the lady turned, though not before pointing a dirty rag in Faine's direction. "One of these days, you will address me by name. You and your bloody manners."
The Fae feigned ignorance and continued eating, leaving Astrid to bustle about with another set of new customers finding their seats. They never did really understand why their formalness bothered some folk. It was, if nothing else, a way to hold onto civility. Aside from the order within their little garden and cottage, there was not much preventing Faine from turning full wildling. Mother had always warned them against it, insisting they recite poems and practice conversation to stave off feralness.
"Well, here's to remembrance," Faine whispered to the air before taking another swig, rice wine gliding down and blossoming into a satisfying pool of heat in their stomach.
Right at that moment, the music died abruptly. Faine turned on instinct, dreading trouble, but finding instead a familiar face standing at the center of the tavern. It was Astrid's father, a jovial old man with a potbelly and impressive mustache. He was quieting his rowdier patrons down and there was a sense of excitement hanging in the air. Curiosity piqued, the perfumist put down their fork and drained the last of their jug.
Something special was happening tonight.
Common ❀Valasren
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