The air was still.

A warm glow emanated from the southern exterior of the tavern, casting golden beams that danced upon the cool waters of the lake. Low hanging boughs ruffled gently in the evening breeze.

Occasionally, muffled shouts from inside the tavern threatened to pierce through the calm. But a firm ring of Micah’s bell settled any potential disputes. Despite being advanced in his years, the tavern keeper was respected by all, and not a single soul dared to tempt his wrath.

Well, except for one.

A small figure lay huddled within the crevice between the willow’s branches and the southern wall. She did not possess a swollen belly or reddened nose like the regular patrons. Nor did she resemble the wispy silhouette of the boat keeper, or the slight frame of Micah’s wife.

Talia Windmore did not belong within (or behind) the tavern. In fact, she did not belong in any part of the city of all.

Yet, here she was.

Flicking away a small woodlouse from the shoulder of her cape, the small girl with a big plan crept onto the tips of her toes and gripped onto the edge of the windowpane. Her wide doe eyes peered into the light.

Three men sat with their backs against her, seemingly oblivious to her presence. The one in the middle was wider than the other two put together. His cloak bulged at the sides, threatening to burst the seams.

Talia stifled a laugh. It was incredulous that the other patrons could not see through his farce. Liliana was more convincing at dressing up than he was.

No.

A single tear escaped, hurriedly wiped away by a calloused hand. She mustn’t think of her.

A sharp shrill pierced through her thoughts.

Last call of the night. Now, Talia would have to hurry.

Chastising herself for becoming distracted, the dark haired figure lowered herself onto the ground, disappearing amongst the shadows.

The night was cool, but her heart blazed with pain.

There was nothing that could stop her now.