Thin sunlight slips through the shutters as breakfast dwindles to crumbs, cooled porridge, and weak tea. Beyond the room, the lodging house settles into an ordinary morning.
The Lodging Keeper
The north track is quieter than the main road. It passes three farms, a stone well, and a low hill with a good view of the fields. Leave before the town stirs, and you should have the road mostly to yourselves.
Bren stands by the shutter, one hand resting against the wood as she studies the road below. Her attention is practical, but the stillness lets her shoulders ease.
Slaan
The north track saves us from crowds, but not from distance. The farm road is kinder to our feet. The main road is faster, provided we enjoy being noticed.
Nhal
Every route costs something. The quiet one costs time. The busy one costs privacy. The farms may cost us neither, if we are willing to ask for water and accept a little conversation.
Bren
We do not have to decide as though someone is chasing us. We can finish breakfast, walk out, and choose at the crossroads.
The keeper gathers the empty bowls and leaves the choice with them. For a while, only the soft scrape of crockery and the distant stir of the town fill the room.