The fire lifted curdles of briny steam from their damp clothes.
A moth-eaten rug held court to a jar of withered flowers, but the diners found even these details homey they were starved for food and comfort after their desperate trip hiding in the dark, leaky hold of a small fishing vessel, fleeing from now-occupied Sutterdam to the seacoast city of Yosta on the other side of the Free States. They had supped in silence in this small sitting room normally saved for visitors too genteel for the common room, and easiest for the innkeep to heat in these empty hours before dawn. Meanwhile, the fire reached some pockets of sap in the burning logs, causing loud pops. Thalen himself scarfed down the bread crust that Tristo had left behind on his plate. Codek tipped his glass upside down to reach the clinging drops of wine while Wareth sucked on a chicken leg, getting the last shreds of meat and flavor.
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