“Get out!”
“Wait, Alastarian,” The Shewish Giant exclaimed, his raised hands pleading. “Gromp want one more mushroom mead for da road.”
“No, the tavern’s closed,” My‑re replied as she playfully but forcefully pushed the back-sides of the three objecting Shews out of the Broken Sword tavern. “Come back tomorrow.” She shut the door behind them. Leaning against the entrance, she still couldn’t understand how anyone could drink a beverage concocted from the refinement of fermented mushrooms.
My‑re glanced at the tables filled with empty glasses, plates, and coins stacked on them. Sighing at the work ahead, she took a moment to enjoy the now quiet room. The crackling of the hearth snapped as smoke from its slowly dying embers drifted upwards. She slumped into the nearest chair and slowly removed her boots. They each made a sucking sound as they pulled off. She stretched out her long legs and rested her feet on a stool. Her cramped toes, held hostage for countless hours, slightly ached as she wiggled them.
“I know just the thing,” said Almond, who had been cleaning a nearby table. He came closer, knelt next to the stool with her resting feet, and reached for them.
“What are you doing…Ohhh,” My‑re started to ask, then moaned as the youth pressed his thumbs along the arch of her foot. The soreness in her muscles melted like butter as he glided his hands over them. He then squeezed each of her digits, cracked, popped, and they instantly relaxed at his touch. She slumped in the chair and closed her eyes. She hadn’t felt this good since winning the Blood Games tournament in Valamantis and enjoyed Lord Garlor of Clan Shanmarrik's gracious hospitality.
“Hey, what you and your boyfriend do is on your own time! The tavern is a mess, and I need to sleep before the sun rises!” General Pol yelled from across the room in Rathiri.
Almond’s hands retreated, and he rose quickly. His eyes shifted back and forth, seemingly unsure of what General Pol had said.
Whispering, My‑re translated, “Back to work.” While Almond knew some Rathiri and picked up words here and there, he wasn’t fluent. She wouldn’t let on he knew less than Pol thought, as they needed the help. Grudgingly, she slid back into her boots, which her aching feet instantly protested, and glanced to General Pol, who watched them.
“You can help out, you know. The great gods of the plains gifted you with two hands, too,” My‑re called back in Rathiri.
General Pol moved to the nearest table, pushed a couple of glasses out of the way, and retrieved the coins. He proceeded to the next table, issued a sly grin as he avoided the dishes, and gathered those coins too.
Grumbling as he left all the plates for them to clean up, My‑re added in Rathiri, “And he’s not my boyfriend.”