Page 40 of Whisper Woods

Abandoning the mayhem, I head inside, taking a seat on one of the stools by the bar. I choose my seat strategically, close enough to be a part of the flow of traffic, but not in the way of things. Even how I sit is carefully considered, making sure I keep my body relaxed and open.

And, as always, it works. The patrons eye me curiously as they approach for their drinks, giving me a greeting or head nod.

“What can I get you?” The being behind the bar looks harried, running his hands through his short black scruff of hair roughly. His smile is forced and polite, but impatient. He was not at the meeting this morning, but he was behind the bar last night, helping to organise the search party from the tavern.His jaw flexes in impatience while he waits for my response.

“Ah, I was hoping to order some lunch. Do you have a menu?” The poor man looks spooked, his tired eyes popping wide momentarily.

“Yeah, sorry, forgot to give you one. It’s hectic around here and we’re short staffed. I’m sorry.” He grabs a couple of menus, thrusting them at me while shouting at a rather burly, hairy being who is currently reaching awkwardly over the bar to the taps. “Johan, if you grab your own drink, you’re outta here!”

The being freezes, caught in the act and shoots a filthy look towards us. They do stand back, though, folding their arms and pouting like a child.

“Not a problem at all.” My rumbling stomach begs to differ, but politeness wins. “Take your time.” I finally catch a glimpse of his name tag on his crisp white shirt—Woodsy. Woodsy throws a grateful look in my direction and all but skids down along the floor to deal with a group of fae demanding service.

I take my time with the menu, keeping an ear to the conversations around me. When I’m finally ready to order, there is a scuffle at the swinging door over at the other end of the bar. The horned being, Ran? Roman? is being shoved through it by the tiny faun who runs the tavern with him. She’s not exactly being gentle about it, either.

“Roan, for the love of the Gods, get your butt back to work and leave that boy alone. He’ll befine. Tor’s with him.” She kicks at his calf and prods his back until he relents, throwing up his hands.

“Fine! Fine! I’m here! Go back to the kitchens!” He throws his hands in the air in surrender, a quick look of friendly affection passing between the two before the little one nods, pushing her round, gold-rimmed glasses up her nose. She leaves back through the same door, the sounds of her hooves under her long skirts clopping on the stone floors.

Roan sighs deeply, wiping a weary hand over his face and scratching at his beard, taking in the current state of the place. What he sees seems to trigger something inside him, because he shakes himself off, switching his demeanour instantly. Noticing the menus in front of me, he nods towards them.

“You ready to order?” He picks up a cloth, wiping at the bench before flipping the rag over his shoulder. There is a level of polite awkwardness while Iorder my sandwich and iced tea. Roan sort of hovers in the area, eyeing me just as curiously as the beings that come up to order. Only he has an extra layer of interest—Seff.

Accepting a clean rack of glasses from a male faun who runs back to the kitchen as though the legendary hounds of Vamir are on his tail, Roan begins unpacking them. Conveniently for both of us, the job requires him to stay in close proximity.

Clearing his throat—and avoiding eye contact—he finally asks a question. “Did Seldon tell you Seff had to leave?”

“Ah, no. But I was aware.” There is an awkward silence that neither of us quite knows what to do with, that is finally alleviated when a shifter of some mid-sized feline variety joins us at the bar, sitting on the stool next to me.

“Ah, you know Seff, do you?” He asks, nodding towards Roan. “Beer thanks, Roan.” The shifter seems rather shy and nervous but determined to project an aura of confidence, largely due to the colourful drink clenched in his hand, I have no doubt. I can smell the alcohol even through the pungent fruit aroma.

He lacks anything resembling grace, leaning awkwardly against the bar, angling his body towards me.

“New around here, aren’t you?” He asks, smiling just a little too brightly. I can see the hesitation in his eye, like he’s begging me to not notice the angry red flush of his cheeks. It’s rather endearing. Like a puppy.

“It’s not my first time here at the Black Stump, but it’s been a while.” I smile at the shifter, and he looks me over again. I’m not entirely sure if he’s flirting. But then, I’m not entirely sure if he’s sure either. His blonde hair flops into his eyes and he tucks it back behind his ear, smiling a thank you at Roan when he hands us our drinks. “Put his drink on my tab.” I offer.

“Thanks, I’m Finn.” He sticks out his hand a little too aggressively, but I take it all the same, introducing myself as my sandwich is delivered.

“Pleasure to meet you, Finn. So how do you know Seff?” Finn’s cheeks flame impossibly brighter, and he takes a rather large gulp of his drink. Probably a little too much, as he has to swallow hard to get it down.

Ah. I know his answer before he manages to spit it out, so at least Iam able to squash my jealousy before it spikes again.

“Seff and I, we’ve known each other for a while.” Finn tries to skirt the question politely, but is circumvented when another shifter approaches the bar, snorting loudly as he claps his hand on Finn’s shoulder, shaking him roughly.

“That’s one way to put it.” The new shifter, reeking of wolf, snickers gruffly. “What’s this? Seff’s already ran through all the male beings in the Woods so now he has to bring in out of towners?”

He looks me up and down, and from the look on his face, he expects us to laugh with him. But it’s all I can do to not haul him up by the front of his shirt and toss him through the walls of the tavern. My jaw aches from the clenching of my teeth, not wanting to do anything that could endanger my position, even if it kills me. I cut my eyes towards the embarrassed Finn and enraged Roan, whose skin is now laced with the fine red of his veins.

“Be nice or get the fuck out of my tavern, Donny. I’m not tolerating your pack's shit here.”

Donny puffs his chest, holding his ground. “Wasn’t saying anything but the truth, Roan. Everyone in the pack knows Seff gets aro—”

“Out. Now.” Roan grinds out the words with a vicious rumble, thin tendrils of blue magic seeping out behind him.

“Are you serious?” The wolf flickers over Donny’s face in his anger.

The rage inside me somewhat appeased by Roan’s intervention, I take a sip of my tea and catch Finn’s eye. The poor man is huddling into himself on the stool, trying to become invisible with the power radiating off the two beings. Donny doesn’t seem to have the same strength to his aura that Seff has, but a wolf against a feline is no real match. Especially not with a berserker in the fray. Who is Seff to Roan that he’s so willing to go toe to toe with his customers over an insult?

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