The food was wonderful. It was hot, it was hearty, and it was good solid stuff, nothing too uppish or fancy, but the sort of thing one wants to eat at the end of a long day. Warm bread, generous pads of butter with a drizzle of honey, a hearty stew that undoubtedly had been made with a bit of ale and good tender beef, and a little sliver of cheese. Sheep cheese, if Rohaan had to guess. Goat, maybe? More than anything, it was hot, and for a man who traveled as light as he did (which was very light, and somewhat peculiarly so when one stopped to think about it) hot food was a sheer delight. And the ale! Rohaan had tasted many a draft from the larders of many lords, ladies, and other sorts with too much money for their own good. And frankly, none of it compared to a nice solid variety like this at the end of a long hard road. Not to mention, the vanilla was a nice touch. How long had it been since he'd had vanilla...?

Rohaan finished his meal with gusto, and the first mug of ale likewise. Eventually he flagged down the barkeep and asked after an apple and another mug of ale that he sipped rather than inhaled. One to wash down the food, another to enjoy. It was quite nice, not some watered-down swill that some places passed off as beer. With his stomach full, he felt he could breathe again, and he felt his muscles beginning to relax. So he munched on the apple, nursed his drink, and listened to the talk of the room. At one point a song did break out amid one table, but seeing as how the whole tavern didn't feel inclined to join in, neither did he. Or at least not at any great volume. He sang along in a soft voice one would have to be very close to hear; he did not feel like drawing too much attention to himself. Not tonight.

Except it seemed he'd done a poor job of that already. For one thing, the tavern's resident mouser-cat, a little white and black thing with yellow-green eyes, would occasionally flick its tail at him and hiss in his direction. Rohaan wasn't surprised. He learned early on that wherever he went, most animals wanted nothing to do with him. Cats would hiss and slink away, dogs would bay and howl but would not approach, and horses would all but panic. All shifters had that problem, and people said it was because they had too much of the Darkness in them, that animals knew. Fools. The animals could sense something in them, yes, but it was not the Darkness, for Rohaan had none. They sensed what his people called an [I]ilun-tai[/I], or in the common speech, 'true alternate'. Every shifter had their natural form, and though they had a repertoire of others at their command, each had one in particular that they felt the most comfortable in, the easiest to hold, the most like them. Animals sensed that in him. 

There was another thing thing that bothered him. More than the cat, he could feel eyes on him. He couldn't explain it, but he'd gotten good over the years at honing this pseudo-sense. He had to in order to survive, so maybe that was it. Maybe he was just more perceptive than some. But he could feel without a doubt that someone was watching him. So slowly he glanced around from underneath his hood, just waiting to see some overzealous sellsword or local guardsman staring him down. But there wasn't. There was just a lad. 

Rohaan hadn't really noticed him before now. He'd been quiet and kept to his own affairs, and so had Rohaan. But he'd unmistakably been looking at him, really looking. Normally this would get the shifter on edge, and perhaps prompt him to slip away. But a kid? What would he want with him? And come to think of it, he was awfully young to be traveling by himself. Especially in these parts. Curious. Rohaan knew firsthand that all kinds of scenarios threw young sprouts into the wide, cold world before they were ready. What was this one doing at a place like this?

He could almost hear Berlin's booming voice in his head. [I]Leave it, Rheoaan. Ain't worth trouble.[/I] But then he thought, what if it was? Besides, if this kid wanted to keep to himself, he wouldn't likely be keen on grilling Rohaan for personal information. [I]Ah, what the hell.[/I] Rohaan got up and bringing his mug and half-eaten apple, he plunked down hard in a chair beside the lad. His hood was still over his face, but his demeanor was casual as he settled into the chair and looked mostly at the fire. But he spoke eventually.

"Nice night, innit? Even nicer with a fire going." Rohaan had a slight accent but it was impossible to determine where from. Through a mouthful of apple he asked, "Where ya comin' from?" The question was asked without any real weight--he was not so much after the answer as he was after conversation. And anyway, he didn't want to grill the kid.