The alehouse, with its usual scent of sweat and spirits, had attracted its regular costumer at the end of the afternoon. Balsi put his spear down with rough hands, not much later followed by an uncaring glance in its direction as it clashed against the oaken floor. Figures, for his day had not been a day in many - dominated by misfortune, with as trophy the marks of that like an untrained soldier. Needless to say, the day had been long, for Balsi’s continuous worries had kept him up at night ‘till dawn. It was not a pleasant thought, but spending time with his brothers could not interfere with his usual daily schedule, even if it were just his - their - father’s will. And so it had become time which he did not have to spare that he invited Nykr and Bran to spend.
But even the mightiest warriors could not defy the need for sleep, and Balsi, though he wouldn’t dare to admit, had not had a good night’s rest. Why the alehouse, he did not know. Perhaps a fine pint of ale would lull him to sleep easier than a night filled with thought. Balsi always ended up here, one way or the other.
’The usual,’ he murmured, his eyes gazing at the scorch mark that graced the table. ‘ - or make that two. I do not wish to think.’
