Morte, the lost Heir (ONC 2024)

25. Reflection

In his human form without wings, Dupe, a tall man with a weathered face and a hint of mischief in his eyes, leaned on the bar in the tavern, listening to one of the patrons recounting how his neighbor's cow had escaped wholly and again trampled his cornfield when Elgatto with a sly smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes, walked in through the door.

"You're the buddy of my neighbor, Keenan, right, the orc?" the figure perked up when the dark elf, a rare sight in these parts, sat at the counter. Dupe poured beer for both of them. And he already smiled under his little mustache, knowing this would be a good conversation...

"Yes, that's me, I'm just coming from him. He'll be here soon; he's just chasing some cow," Elgatto said, exchanging complicit smiles with Dupe.

"Alright, then I'll tell him he should fix the fence because that useless cow of his keeps coming over to my place! And it's trampled my vegetable garden so many times, caused me so much damage, that this morning I had enough, and I sold his cow!"

"His? That's impossible; it's still grazing in his yard. Are you sure you saw whose cow it was?" Elgatto chuckled.

"What? That can't be, I know that stinky animal! Are you sure his cow is still there?" the other insisted, then jumped up and downed his beer. "Well, I have to see this for myself!" and rushed out.

"Poor Keenan, he has so many problems with his neighbor!" Elgatto remarked.

"How's Aura?" asked Dupe after clearing the empty tankards.

"She's fine, not feeling as nauseous in the mornings anymore. She stayed with Nerina to discuss what they're preparing for Morte's visit, which is girl stuff. I don't know why they're making it so complicated! But it's Morte, after all, so who knows what to expect?"

"Have you heard what they're saying about Morte? I hope half of it isn't true, but we'll see!" Dupe shook his head.

"I'll believe it when I see it!" the dark elf said, his voice laced with skepticism. They glanced at each other with a hint of concern, their worry for their friend palpable.

In the bustling tavern, the clattering of cutlery and the clinking of glasses could be heard; it was dinner time, and more and more people were arriving with hungry stomachs. Through the door, a pleasant summer breeze, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread, made its way, gently lifting the edges of the white tablecloths.