Ana tucked her nose into her spotted glass in a half-hearted attempted to escape the smell of vomit and urine and spilled drink. Stagcross wasn't known for being respectable, but the least they could do was clean the floor. Instead, they threw down soiled hay and sawdust and called it good. She buried her nose more deeply in the glass.

It had been days since she sent out word about her journey into the mountains. She knew not many would risk it, but she had expected someone to show up. Someone desperate for coin or recklessly craving adventure. How much longer could she linger in this gods-forsaken village?