It is early morning at the Inn and Tamarin moves around on soft feet. A nameless hunk of meat is placed in the large oven atop a bed of vegetables for those of huge hunger and no taste buds. A new cask of beer is tapped behind the large imposing bar and puddles of stale brew from the night before are smeared over the bar with Tamarin's spotted rag. She lifts the wooden bar from the door and takes up her station behind the bar. Her hazel eyes watch the door impassively and her chewed nails are gnawed on again.