Lira set down a tray of steaming spiced chai on a table near the fire, smiling as Thrain launched into yet another telling of the story. The dwarf had his axe resting against his chair and a captive audience of three farmers who’d come in from the cold.
“There we were,” Thrain gestured grandly with his pewter tankard, “standing in the middle of Elmshire in the dead of night, staring up at this massive bird sprawled across a halfling hole like he owned the place.”
“Snoring like a mountain troll!” Rog added from his seat nearby, his blue beard twitching with amusement. “You could hear him before you entered the village!”
Lira had heard this version of the story at least a dozen times now, and it seemed to grow more elaborate with each telling. Not that she doubted the volume of the ostrich’s snoring.
“It took all of us to lift him,” Thrain continued, warming to his tale. “Korl and Vaskel on one side, Val and me on the other, and we still needed Rog to manage the legs. That bird weighs as much as a boulder!”
One farmer leaned forward. “How’d you get him to stay in the cart?”
“Erindil,” Rog said solemnly. “He sang lullabies as we rode back. It kept the bird sleeping, although Glen kept trying to roll over in his sleep. He nearly tipped the whole cart twice.”
Lira knew this part was true, although she had a hard time imagining her regal uncle singing.
“And when we finally got him back to Wayside,” Thrain said, building to his crescendo, “he woke up, looked around, belched enough brandy fumes to singe my beard, and collapsed into sleep again.”
The farmers burst into laughter, and Lira shook her head fondly as she moved back toward the bar.
“Enjoying the show?” Sass asked, appearing at Lira’s elbow with an empty tray.
“Always,” Lira said. “Though the story seems to get better by the day.”
“Aye, give it another week and Thrain will have them chased by goblins on the road back to Wayside. Though I have to admit, the actual story is entertaining enough without embellishment.”
Sass glanced across the room to where Val sat in her favorite chair by the fire, knitting needles clicking steadily. The guard looked up and winked at Sass, who cleared her throat and tried not to appear flustered.
Lira found the couple’s flirting charming, and she enjoyed seeing the usually composed dwarf unnerved.
“Speaking of Elmshire,” Lira said, “have you seen Poppin and Toobi’s invitation?”
The halfling cousins had been so delighted by the night’s events, and so taken with the friends they’d made in Wayside, that they’d sent a formal invitation for everyone who’d helped with the rescue to visit Elmshire. “For a proper visit,” the note that was tucked into the letter to their cousins read, “with no intoxicated ostriches.”
“I’m thinking we should go in the spring,” Sass said. “When the weather’s nicer and the meadows around Elmshire are in bloom.”
“Agreed,” Lira said. She picked up a cloth and began wiping down the bar, though it was already clean. It was just something to do with her hands while she took in the scene before her.
The tavern’s great room was comfortably full but not crowded. Afternoon light streamed through the windows, and the day was bright but cold.
With Sassa and Lira’s blessing—and a promise of a cut of profits—Rosie had set up shop behind the bar and was doing a brisk business selling her apple brandy, which had gained something of a reputation since the festival.
“Strong enough to fell an ostrich,” people were calling it, and Rosie had leaned into the tales with enthusiasm.
“Never thought I’d owe my business success to a drunk ostrich,” Rosie had told Lira the day before, “but I’ll take it.”
Glen himself had become something of a village celebrity. The ostrich seemed to sense his elevated status and had been preening even more than usual, strutting around Erindil’s camp with his chest puffed out. Children had taken to visiting him, bringing carrots and apple slices, and Glen basked in the attention like a peacock at a king’s court.
Through the tavern window, Lira could see Glen’s new tent, complete with sumptuous fabrics, personalized pennants, and tasseled cushions. The ostrich was currently visible through the draped silk opening in the tall tent, sleeping peacefully with one wing draped dramatically over his eyes.
Snow drifted from the sky again, and the village was all white-peaked roofs and golden lamplight, with smoke twisting from chimneys in lazy spirals.
“He’s milking this for all it’s worth,” Vaskel observed, appearing beside Lira with an empty tankard in hand. “You’d think he’d won a battle rather than gotten himself spectacularly drunk.”
“Let him have his moment,” Iris said from her perch on the other side of the long bar. “We all need to feel special sometimes.”
“Very true,” Vaskel agreed, smiling at the apothecary, and Lira saw something soft in the Hellkin’s expression that she’d rarely witnessed during their adventuring days.
Interesting, she thought, turning away. Very interesting.
