It's a winter afternoon, a couple of days before the winter solstice. Piles of snow have covered the road and there a few chances for visitors to show up. The few small rooms, separated from the big hall, are empty. A fire cracks in the fireplace, but there are only a couple of customers, the usual ones from the village, seated at the tables nearby. They are content to lift their beers to their lips from time to time and to lead an interrupted, almost monosilabic conversation.
The frozen numbness that reignes outside has stretched over the people as well. Even the joyful Barliman seems lost in thought. He stands behind his counter, busily rubbing a beer glass with a clean cloth, not seeming to notice that it is already sparkling clean, reflecting the fire.
It would seem that the day will end in the same quiet as the previous one, without anything of notice happening in the little town.
Aceast mesaj a fost editat de Asfaloth: 10 April 2007 - 07:34 PM