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For about half a decade now the One-Eyed Wolf tavern had stood in Athkatla. At the time of its opening it had been filled with the warmth of a steadily glowing hearth and the comfort of friends. As the sun rose in the sky that morning, the fire had been reduced to struggling embers, and the only waking soul was the tavern's proprieter, Chani Ravenwood.
Chani's frail frame heaved with the exhausted sigh she emitted as she leaned against a crusty windowpane at the front of her tavern. It was difficult to run the place on her own, especially considering its reasonable level of success. The toll it had taken on her was readily apparent in her sunken expression and unenthused glances. She didn't really want the tavern; but it kept her busy, and that was what mattered. There always had to be a distraction, to keep her from looking back.
It was hard at times like these to think of anything in any dimension of time, really. As the pinks and oranges of dawn fell across her face, as her dull flaxen hair fell limply into her eyes, as the ache in her spine spread to her ribcage and beyond, she could find nothing more enjoyable in life than the coolness of the windowpane against her cheek. Day, after night, after night, after day.
[ 06-28-2006, 01:01 AM: Message edited by: Killing Spree ]
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