The whole first floor of the inn, the place where it was usually bustling and filled with drunkards, was living up to its name. Even though that stupid mage had thrown himself at the Ylissean army, she didn’t care at the moment. The woman was leaning against a wall, her eyes closed as she drank deeply from a flask of whiskey. The liquid was warm in her throat, and when she finished taking that swig she wiped away the moisture from the corner of her mouth and looked around. There were a lot of new faces… one was frightening the innkeep and the other was drinking some sort of cider. The sight of new people kept her on edge; she was ready for a fight if there was one. 

Lumara sighed and looked down at the tawny color of the drink. She stared at her reflection and narrowed her eyes. Maybe she would have stood a chance against that army if that idiot didn’t run off. She couldn’t relate to that stupid mage with the hat though. He was always spunky and singing, and now that she thought of it, she supposed that she [i]would[/i] kinda miss his music. Her eyes drifted around the room some more. People were huddled in groups and being silent, others were just drinking and speaking to each other. Someone laughed. Someone else yelled an insult. Idiots. Now wasn’t the time for that.

She took another deep swig from her flask and leaned more heavily against the wall. The wall was old and made of rotten planks, and there were little holes in which granules of sand streamed in. She’d hate to be in there during a sandstorm, which was bound to happen sooner or later in that barren land. Finishing the last of her drink, she coughed and ran a hand through her hair. [i]Why did I join the Shepherds..?[/i] she wondered. [i]I could have joined the Stone Bears, or Fierce Storm.[/i] those bandits wouldn’t have had as many deaths as this.

Lumara went to get another drink, brushing by the man who seemed to be a killer, and went back to lean against the wall. This time she had ordered scotch. She wanted to get drunk, which was exactly what she was doing. Maybe she would pass out. Maybe she would wake up in bed with a handsome man. She didn’t care. She didn’t even care if she had a hangover. She just wanted to get wasted. Be a happy, robust Lumara. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. Taking an even bigger gulp of scotch, she felt the warmth spreading in her chest and belly. [i]That’s what I want…[/i] she thought as she drank more. [i]I want to feel like I’m flying on the back of Caius.[/i]

---

Ambra frowned as she walked toward the steps, a few plates of food and forks and knives and spoons in her hands. She wobbled, but kept her balance and made sure that none of the food would fall to the floor. The items she had in her hands were soft foods, perfect for an unconscious person. A plate of warm, mashed desert spud, along with a soup of herbs and some mystery meat. The food looked bland but smelled good, however, the most important thing she had was at her waist; a heaving water pouch. She would go to each and every unconscious man and woman and feed them and give them water. They fought, so they deserved it.

The red haired woman first thought of Talbot. Poor, poor Talbot. That was the second death on their hands, and she couldn’t do anything. The first was Helena. Poor, poor Helena. She had been a good woman even though she didn’t know her. Her eyes grew distant as she walked into the first room, where a broken man lay. He was a broad shouldered man, huge, strong, and very fierce. He had hair of red, darker than hers, and his eyes were closed as his mouth opened to let out a groan of pain. Ambra tipped her head to the side and closed the door behind her.

She went to all of the rooms that the Shepherds were inhabiting, until she came upon Zaino’s. Frowning, she looked down at the ground. He was the worst off. He was weak and shriveled like a lotus flower in a parched land. Ambra knew that she should have gone to him first… but… maybe she just didn’t want to seem like she was suffocating him. He needed his space. But now, she had to help him. If she didn’t, he would die. Taking the fresh mashed potatoes and soup and water, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to feed him. It was a tedious task—she had to make sure that all of the food was down his throat and out of his mouth. The soup and mashed spud would give him energy, and, when all of the food was gone, she gave him the water. She gave him all of the water that she had. He seemed better now, with a full belly… and water in his system. 

Ambra yawned and stretched, taking the empty plates and dirty utensils back downstairs before once again returning to the second floor with her own plate of food. She ordered solid food for herself, at least, not like mashed desert potatoes or soup. A chunk of dry meat sat on the old sandy platter, along with some old, dried vegetables and desert fruit. It would be her meal for now, and the fruit would take the role as dessert. She slipped into a room she had rented and sat at the edge of the bed, ripping off a piece of what seemed like beef and popping it into her mouth. [i]A bit too dry, but properly seasoned. Good enough.[/i] she thought as she swallowed.