But Lyonette had stopped in cleaning the kitchen to stare at them. Red and cracked, the skin open, exposing painful red flesh that hurt every time Lyonette touched something with them. They’d been hurting, and she’d only now stopped to look at them. The problem-if it really was a problem-was Lyonette’s hands. The two adventuring teams would come back late in the night, starving and smelling of sweat and corpses and eat whatever she put in front of them while washing it all down with alcohol. Her guests cared about quantity over quality now. The quality wasn’t really that important. So she’d take a dish of meatloaf, boil some fresh pasta and sauce with it, and thus create an acceptable dinner. Erin’s prefabricated meals had nearly run out, but Lyonette had learned to mix Erin’s cooking and hers. Or rather, she was going to cook up some supplementary dishes to go with the pantry’s supplies. Lyonette stared at her hands in the kitchen. There was an ocean of tears in her that would never run dry. Even Erin’s closest friends didn’t qualify, but those four-Įrin looked up. More than that, around her, he was silly and absentminded and. He had fought for her inn, tried to rescue Mrsha. And before she had met him, he had nowhere else to go. But she remembered him, surrounded by his people. Of the Antinium, it was Pawn and Bird whom Erin thought of. Who else? Only a few more names sprung to mind. In Erin’s head she narrowed her focus down, separating friends from that thing that made them something more in her mind. It wasn’t that Erin thought she couldn’t trust Ceria, or Halrac with her life. Definitely not the Silver Swords or any of the other teams. Not them, or the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt either. If there were anyone Erin would trust more than anything, it would be them.Ĭeria and the Horns? …No. It couldn’t even save Noears on the roof.Īnd when Erin said that, she thought of her inn. Her inn wasn’t large enough to contain even one tribe of Goblins. Her walls could cave in, despite her Skills. She could never, ever let this happen again. Erin slowly sat up and buried her face in her lap. And she had lived through the death of the Horns of Hammerad, Ulrien, Brunkr, the Goblins…it was so much. She still remembered when Klbkch had died. How did adults, real adults handle things like this? How did they live with the pain tearing them up? Erin still remembered the first Goblin she’d killed. She’d warned Erin about Toren, about what would happen if people brought technology from her world. But she kept them open, staring at the ceiling. If she were older, more mature-Įrin whispered to herself, feeling her sore eyes wanting to close. She hadn’t had any other idea than to wave a stupid flag. Erin had asked the Goblins to fight for her. Even though she was twenty, and she’d be twenty one soon. Part of Erin hated everyone and everything. They hadn’t laid down their lives for a city they didn’t even live in. Falene had apparently broadcast everything. Halrac had shot arrows from the walls, or so Erin had heard. But she couldn’t be.Ĭeria hadn’t been there. Erin wished, vaguely, that she’d said something. We’ve already told the other adventurers-they knew already, but we made sure-there’s this giant we have to take care of tonight. But we’ll make sure Numbtongue’s alright. That wasn’t something she just knew Ceria stopped by to tell her that. And she knew Numbtongue was out there, on the little hill with the graves, digging another one. Erin lay on her back as below her, people walked in and out of her inn. Erin had none to describe how she truly felt. She was disgusted, guilty and heartbroken. And of Rags, of all the Goblins who’d passed through her doors. Not when every memory she had was of the Goblins eating in her inn for that one night, of Headscratcher sitting at her table, Shorthilt polishing his sword. Her inn, the place where she’d been so happy to live for months, was far too small. It was too cramped or she was too large, as if she’d tasted the faerie flowers again. The inn felt smaller, and not just because the third floor was missing. Now she sat in the little room that was hers but really Lyonette and Mrsha’s old room, staring up at the ceiling. And that simple fact had been enough to drive Erin to tears. They would not be forgotten when they were gone. Regret and sadness too, but there had been relief as well. There was something eternal there, even more than Erin’s. A quiet room with colorful symbols speaking from every wall. Hundreds of Workers and Soldiers, sitting around him. Part of Erin had been guilty, for leaving him and wallowing in her own grief. The Soldiers had stood aside to let Erin pass. Not what others thought, but of her friends. He had reminded her of what was important. Seeing Numbtongue in Liscor had hurt with a sharp pain that had been worse than all the days of being alone with her thoughts and guilt. Too drained to keep crying.īut maybe a bit better.
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