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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 1616201" data-attributes="member: 13681">Oliver, oddly quiet the whole of the trek down out of the mountains, bares a toothy grin at the sight of Eivanrach on the horizon. ...Can't believe I made it out of those mountains in one piece - and feeling fit as my old bones can, too! Guess the hunt is still in my blood... At the Inn he gratefully hands Bastrop's reins to a stable hand and flips the grubby child a coin, "Take good care of him, he's taken good care of me." And to Bastrop he adds, "I'll come and check on you soon, Bastrop." He eyes Nurthk or Raven, or even Fendric... "Could one of you lads help me with this pack?" At any dubious looks at the large pack, "I'm an old man, I need my comforts." He looks down and away ...And caltrops provide comfort to a man on the run... He raises his scraggly eyebrows, "It's really just bulky, not all that heavy," and grinning sheepishly, "Couldn't do that to poor ol' Bastrop." *******At the Inn: Oliver happily pays for a share in the rooms and ambles up the stairs humming, Winkle's cage in hand and a bit of meat for the growing owlet. He jolts to a stop, foot hanging in mid step as he sees the red-painted floor, cage swinging. He swallows and a tattooed hand checks hidden daggers. His tenses, eyes darting this way and that at a shout barked below. He shakes himself and continues Down-the-hall-To-the-left-Third-on-the-right. He grins gratefully as the pack is placed on the floor and places Winkle's cage on one of the beds. "I'll be down later." He feeds Winkle the tidbit of meat, astonished that, for once, the creature doesn't try to take his fingers and the food. Huh... how about that? He experimentally pets the mangy tufts of gray down and gleaming white feathers and smiles. "Orbril teaching you some manners, eh, Winkle?"  The bird merely blinks and leaving the cage open Oliver goes to sit at a small hard stool before the room's wash basin. He leans over, and tugs the pack closer undoing the bindings and sorting through the drifts of stuff, fingers brushing items summoning the memories they conjure. He lingers on the case of the handsome lute before cracking it open and taking out the darkly gleaming intrument. He strums the strings smiles faintly. It is uncertain how much time passes as he idly strums and plucks the strings, lost to music and memory. After a time he comes to himself and he carefully places it back into the case.</blockquote>

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