#ulumb

“This has nothing to do with magic,” she grumbles under her breath, voice shrill with the fury only an eleven year old can manage. Ulumb tries in vain not to laugh, not wanting to encourage the unruly pupil. She sees Kazara's ear twitch from his place on the floor, seated close to the fire light.

"We've got cider and ale," he says, voice deep and booming in the small interior. Someone coughs from their seat by the hearth. Ulumb clears her throat, a nervous habit, and approaches the counter with a quick shake of her head. She feels guilty lying before she's even done it, despite it not being her own lie, and even with knowing that this innkeeper would never know or care. Her hands rub against the old, worn wood of the counter. Her thumb finds the letters of someone's name, carved deep and partially sanded away.

"No, thank you," speaking barely above a whisper, she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. She's not even sure if she should be worried that someone less kind might be searching for the same individual, that there might be people out there aware of their connection. The thought makes her feel cold and anxious.

Words stall in her mouth, the kind eyes of the innkeeper avert from her gaze, giving her an odd sense of privacy.

"Do you... is there an Erwan here? Erwan… uhm. Forgive me, I'm not sure of the full name.."

The innkeeper scratches his chin, let's out a long breath that smells of meat and tobacco. Ulumb's face burns with embarrassment, not a feeling she's accustomed to. This whole situation is out of her comfort zone, the secrecy of it all is a far cry from the lumber business.

With broom still in hand, the innkeeper taps the knobby handle against the ceiling, only a short distance from both of their heads. He ignores the thin cloud of dust that falls from the planks.

"Upstairs, first room to your left," he says. Behind her, the door swings open again, and the sound of chipper bretic fills the stuffy air as a small group of travelers enter the building. Immediately, the innkeeper's attention is gone from her, yelling out once again of cider and ale. She's left to stare at the few rickety wooden steps that had been so lovingly referred to as a staircase. Pacing across the room in a few short steps, her hands find the wall, gaze meeting the poorly lit second story.

The hallway atop the steps is claustrophobic, she ducks down and makes herself small to avoid the walls and short ceiling built without someone her size in mind. First room to her left isn't hard instructions to follow, especially when the inn itself only has three rooms to speak of. She places herself quietly before the scuffed wooden thing, eyes lingering on the doorknob, and stands for a long time. She finds herself feeling hesitant and uninvited, despite what the Argonian had told her a day prior. He'd given her the information willingly, told her the exact place to go to, the name to ask for.

Making up her mind, she knocks once, curt sounding even to her own ears. She worries for a moment that it won't be recognized as a knock, sounding instead like someone bumping against the wall. Before she can raise her hand to try again, there's a faint sound from within, a voice saying something she can't quite make out. It sounds enough like a welcome for her to reach for the doorknob, it squeaks miserably as she turns it, letting herself in.

The room is darker than the hallway, dark enough that the light she lets in illuminates a round wooden table in front of her, covered with trinkets spilling from a leather bag.

"Erwan?" she asks tentatively, not sure of what else to do. There's a laugh from somewhere in the room, warm and familiar sounding, and it's confirmation enough for her to close the door behind her. As her eyes adjust, she's able to make out the rest of the room. It's small and quaint, with only a table, a stool, and a lumpy looking bed. From the doorway, she can only barely make out the shape of him beneath the covers, a candle on the floor beside him nearly burning itself out.

"Will you be calling me that for the duration of your visit?" he asks.

"How did you know it was me at the door?" she asks in return. He moves slightly in bed, still out of her sight.

"It wouldn't be anyone else".

"You aren't worried about being followed..?"

He laughs again, and she hears the sound of a book snapping shut. There is a thin quality to his voice now, and it makes her frown. She tries to ignore the lingering acidic smell of herbs and metal still hanging heaving in the room. Or the way he doesn't move to greet her.

"No, I'm not," he puts shortly.

Her heavy footsteps make the floorboards groan as she approaches the table, eyeing his few scattered possessions, evidence of someone who'd arrived in a hurry.

"You knew Wih-jei would send for me?" she asks. She removes her gloves, one careful finger at a time, listening to him haphazardly drop something onto the floor beside his fading candle.

"I thought he might. Orsinium is the closest city."

She shrugs off her coat, still speckled with raindrops, and sets it down on the table. She's mindful to avoid his remaining bandages, left in a pile near his bag. It's disorderly, in a way so unlike him, that she finds herself wondering if the disarray might be Wih-Jei's doing. The alternative is slightly more worrying, the image of him alone and hurting, fumbling through his own things. She pushes it out of mind.

"How bad is it then?" She addresses the elephant in the room, the reason for her rushed departure from Orsinium. She looks towards the bed, sees the reflection in his eyes flicker back at her. He sighs long and heavy, a hand reaching up to muse with his own hair. She can make out the dark color of his shirt now, hanging loose on his frame.

"I don't think I'll be returning to Wayrest anytime soon," he jests. When he's met with nothing but her brooding silence, he complies with a proper response.

"It's nothing but a scratch," he says.

"You stink of blood"

There's a long pause at that. He rests back against his pillow, head lulling to the side, staring at her fully now. The light from the candle turns his face a pale yellow, the shadows around his eyes seeming deep and foreboding. She worries her hands, frowns at his lack of a response.