Full of food and slightly tipsy from the ale, Fang felt more at peace with himself than he had felt for a long while. He leaned forward on the table and realized how tired he truly felt.

"Tavern keeper," he said, louder than he had intended.

The tavern keeper stared coldly at him and seemed to mutter something to himself that Fang only half-listened to. He took his heavy steps to the werewolf's table.

"What is it?"

"Do you know of a place a large fellow such as me could stay?" Fang laughed.

Fang could tell the tavern keeper was put off slightly by the unnatural laugh of the werewolf. Fang simply sat there, expecting an answer, his eyes drooping in exhaustion.

"You've been harmless so far, I suppose I could let you stay the night in my stable for a silver..."

Of course, it was a silver, Fang thought.

He fished into his coin purse and brought out two silver. Spoils from an earlier job as a sellsword. He placed the coins on the table, in front of the heavyset man.

"For your trouble, kind sir."

The man grabbed the silver with thick fingers and tucked them into his apron pocket.

"The stable is right in the back. We got nothing there for you to tear to shreds so you should be fine. I'll bring you a blanket and see that you're not disturbed. Fair?"

"Perfectly fair," Fang said sleepily.

He dipped his clawed fingers into his coin purse and pulled out another silver.

"Could you bring some mutton and ale with the blanket?" he asked.

Fang had settled into a pile of straw when the tavern keeper arrived with a horse blanket and barrel lid, balanced with Fang's food and drink.

"Here you go, stranger. I'll be locking the stable up if you don't mind?"

"I would prefer it," Fang nodded. He took the tray from the man and set it on the ground in front of him. He took the blanket and set it to the side as well.

"What do I call you, tavern keeper?"

"I'm called Wortham. At least that's what those 'round here call me. I suppose you can be callin' me that as well."

"Thank you, Wortham, I appreciate your kindness"

Wortham paused, unsure of what to say.

"Just... don't make me regret it. It's been bad enough 'round here without beastmen."

Fang could smell fear. Fang stood up and extended his hand, palm up.

"May I shake your hand?" he asked.

"Very well. What is your name?"

Wortham extended his own hand, but it was like that of a child compared to Fang's. The two greeted one another.

"I go by Fang."

"Fang?"

Fang nodded. "I'm afraid I am not very original."

Wortham smiled slightly and began to walk out of the stable.

"Before you go, Wortham, I made a discovery in the woods on the way over... has anyone gone missing?"

"What did you find, Mister Fang?"

Fang sat back down in the straw. "I'm afraid I found two bodies. They were the victims of some roving skeletons. I... took the liberty of burying them."

Wortham turned toward the entrance of the stable. He was silent for a long while.

"We'll talk it over in the morning, if that is alright, Mister Fang."

Fang said nothing as the stable door slid shut, and heavy chains rattled. He was locked in for the night. His sword was within arm's reach, his chain was available, as always, and he had food, drink, and a blanket.

Everything was fine.

He took a bite of the mutton and lied back in the straw, long fingers entwined beneath his thickly muscled neck. The mystery of Gordhurst would be unraveled tomorrow.

He began to drift off, but he thought better of it and took one last sniff of his surroundings to be sure he was clear of any danger. That last thing he wanted to smell was the frenzy of sweaty townsfolk welding torches to burn down the stable. Beyond the scent of the straw, wood, and dried horse dung was the smell of his food and drink.

Then he smelled the girl.