The smell of herbs and tea were heavy in the air as Dan stepped into Mabel's house behind Gram. He sniffed a few times; chamomile and lavender, orange peel and chicory. The smell alone was enough to settle his nerves a notch after the humbling thrashing he'd taken at the nest a little under a half hour ago. Not that anyone could tell. The ugly dark blue and purple bruises had faded to wilting greens and yellows five minutes after they'd found their road, and by the time they'd reached Geflen's edge, his remaining arm was straight and strong again.

The home fit the old woman well; dour, drooped, and gray. The bricks, once a rusty red, were fading in time from the winds and the snow. Gram told him it was the oldest home in Geflen. The chimney sagged, tilting to the right, seeming to be waiting for one good, powerful gust so that it could give up the ghost. Even in the middle of the day, the interior was cold and gloomy, the only light coming from a creaky old lantern with yellowed glass, and the glint shining from Mabel's amber eyes. Bent as she was, her gaze was sharp and young, like a new forged dagger, straight from the whetstone. While most of her tarnished silver hair was gathered in a lopsided bun atop her head, long whispy strands of it fell around her neck, seeming to rise from the wattles there like smoke.

"Well, I haven't seen you in some time. I was thinking you mught have died. What an unpleasant surprise to see otherwise," she croaked, her feet shuffling through the shadows, brushing past them to throw open the door to her cast iron furnace. The red glow bathed the entirety of the home in its hot light, revealing dozens and dozens of books, each stacked as high as the old woman's stooped head. The light shifted to a brighter yellow as she tossed another small log rywan into the metal belly, shining and glistening on the surface of hundreds of wax and cork sealed jars, sitting on some of the book stacks, old dusty tables, and crooked shelves. Some of the jars had dried leaves and flowers inside. Harmless enough. But many others contained yellow or green or white liquids in which soaked a grisly motley; small body parts - many a collection it seemed - bloated strange snakes, bizarre thorny and fat insects with too many legs, and some bulbous fleshy shapes crammed so tightly inside, he couldn't tell what they were, even if they were in one piece.

"Always a ray of sunshine in my life to know that someone, somewhere out there is thinking of me." He flashed her a crooked half smile that dripped of arrogance. She fixed him with a yellow stare for a few breaths, then spat on floor and shuffled past them again. Dan rolled his eyes and laughed.

"You know, in my culture, that's a marriage proposal." Mabel gave a bit of a grunt and a grimace as she forced herself into posture she had perhaps fifty years ago, a hand braced against the small of her back, then shuffled close to the saraelian, her tawny eyes flashing.

"I hope you're torn apart for all time in the Antifirmanent!" While she was still just beneath his collar bone, he was sure if she hadn't just spat on her floor, she would have done her best to to spit in his face. He felt Gram's big scarred paw push against his chest.

"I think Gianna's down at Stihl's boy, why don't you head down? I could use a cup of tea about now to warm my bones, but I'll find you later, aye?" He glanced down at the dwarf, then sneered at Mabel, before spinning around and walking briskly back out of her home.

"And bring the rest of my Thaynes damned books back, demon!" A year ago, he would have absolutely levelled the sagging home with how hard he slammed the door, but now, all he did was shake the doorframe and rattle the windows a bit.

Stihl's pub was the only one of its kind in Geflen. You could get food anywhere, on the side of any of the winding little roads. Soups, roasted and fried meats, candied fruits and vegetables from any corner of the world, the recipes brought here to a corner in Salvar by dozens of immigrants from all over. But a mug of beer, or maybe some wine, or even a good glass of whiskey? Only at Stihl's pub. Stihl himself was a man of great averages; average height, average weight, brown hair, brown eyes. The only things that could catch the eye about him, were the missing top digits of his index, middle, and ring finger on his right hand, and the glass sheen of his left eye, a shade paler brown than his right. He'd shown Dan it was fake on his first visit to Stihl's, when he found the glass eye staring up at him from his whiskey glass, the one eyed man himself breathless with laughter in the back room. He was a jokester and a prankster, who liked to tell people he'd lost the bits of himself in some of the most hidden, best kept secret gambling circles that ran both gold and red.

While at night, the pub was bright and obnoxious, the raucous sometimes echoing all the way up to his cabin, in the afternoon, there were only a handful of people visiting Stihl's today. Several were still wrapped tightly in their fur coats and hats and robes, most were quiet, eyes fixed on their mugs and glasses, lost in their own stories and worlds, sparing him a quick glance as he paused at the door to kick the snow off his boots on the frame. 'Must be new, off the boat today,' he thought, scanning them before turning his eyes to the bar. Most everyone coming in from the icy docks where the ships drew port walked into Geflen staring at their shoes, their faces gaunt and drawn. While he occassionally wondered why they were so gloomy, he never really cared to ask. Refuges, maybe, but so many? It was odd, but it was rare he gave it a thought.

He spotted the brilliant splash of color of Gianna's flowers they second he looked at the bar. She had the same posture as everyone else; hunched, elbows tucked in, as though guarding...something. Dan took the stool next to her, took his long silver pipe out of thin air, and waved it at Stihl, down at the other end of the counter. Tucking it into his lips, the one eyed bartender strolled down, struck a match from underneath the bar, and lit the saraelian's pipe.

"Glass of Knockwood, on the rocks, no fucking eye please."

"You're no fun, you big bruiser!" Stihl laughed and spun away, rubbing his hands into a dingy old towel he had tossed over his left shoulder. He turned just slightly towards Gianna, exhaling a plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from her. He blinked slowly, groping about in his head, stumbling and falling. Being in Geflen had taught him to say thanks again, after years of taking whatever he wanted, but his time hadn't tutored him on how to apologize.

"Uh...sorry I pointed my gun at your face." She didn't move at first, and for a second, Dan thought she might be sleeping, passed out early in the day at the counter. But then, she turned her head to him, and from from the sleepy smile on her face, and the droop of her eyelids, he could tell she'd been here since she'd stormed away from his cabin.

"Bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the lucky ones." Stihl came back, and set down the glass of Coronian Knockwood whiskey in front of it, both his eyes closed. Dan's lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl and he pulled the glass towards him, but before he could see if the whiskey was going to watch him while he drank, Stihl popped his eyes open and laughed loudly as he turned away once again, off to wipe down some of the tables. Gianna lifted her own glass into the air, the liquid sloshing and nearly splashing out of it. Dan lifted his and they clinked the glasses together in a toast.

"To the lucky ones," She announced, but her voice had gone flat, the drunken humor quickly bleeding away.