The sound of soft lute music drifted through the air. Aleron's ear perked, listening to the sound. It was peaceful, soothing, and inviting. With night drawing nearer by the minute he decided to go inside the small inn across the cobblestone road. It was a squat building, with clay walls and a thatch roof. But the smell of cooking meats and baking bread lured him in.
Inside was something he had never seen before. The people, all dressed in light trousers and thin dresses, sat around a fire. A woman played an ornate lute in the corner, singing along to her melody in delicate whispers. Aleron approached the innkeeper.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. The innkeeper's back was turned as he cleaned a mug with a woolen cloth.
"Excuse me," Aleron repeated. He leaned slightly over the counter as if to tap the man's shoulder, but decided against it.
He instead sat down on a wobbly wooden stool and closed his eyes. He'd been walking the whole day, not resting, and had finally arrived at a town. He thought back on his journey.
Earlier that day, just at sunrise, he had awoken as usual to milk the cows and check for chicken's eggs. Few others were awake, so he went about business more leisurely. The first sign that something was off had been when he opened the door to the barn. The cows were all lowing nervously, and wouldn't be milked. He shrugged to this and moved on to the chickens. But they, too, were distraught. It was when he heard a scream come from the village that he turned to see the culprit. A horrible creature was running throughout the village, screaming like nothing he had heard before. It was tall and bony, with hollow eyes and gray skin. It pounced on a girl, killing her in a mess of thrashing arms and blood.
Aleron, desperate to remain hidden, slunk into the henhouse and crouched behind a pile of hay.
There he waited, for an hour, until the screams turned to sobs and the cries of the monster faded away. He emerged to find over fifteen people slaughtered. Heart pumping, he searched to see if his innermost fears were false. But alas, they were not, for lying in the middle of the carcasses was his mother. Holding back tears, he looked at the villagers, begging silently for them to do something. To react. Surely they lost loved ones too. But they just stood at the edge, watching silently, emptiness in their eyes. He had switched places with them, and as they observed without word he wept over the body of his young mother.
He left her side after an hour, silent and determined to leave behind the sadness he felt. He returned to his wooden home and gathered as many blankets, clothes, and food as he could. Arming himself with a dagger and wearing his father' sold hunting vest, he left the village. The tears had dried but the emotion hadn't. And when he looked back, one last time, all he saw were the unprotesting faces of the survivors.
He'd walked that whole day, and when the afternoon turned late he found himself at a town. He searched for an inn, and that was where he found himself now.
Aleron placed his hands on the table. He promised himself not to cry; it was a foreign place, where the people preyed on the weak. But he felt no urge to. All he felt was the bitter after taste of remorse. His mother's death had caused great suffering, but in the solitude of the open road he lost all traces of sadness. Instead, his current thoughts were on getting good and a bed.
"Sir," he said one last time. The innkeeper did not turn around. Understanding that the man was simply ignoring him, he did not persist and instead sat near the fire, in an empty table at the corner of the room. He slouched in the chair, using his burlap sack as a pillow. And with the sound of the lute in the background, he slowly drifted off, failing to notice the figure approaching him from the other corner.
