The rain came hard and sudden, swallowing the road in sheets of gray.Sepharine tightened her hood, shouting to be heard. “How much farther?”The caravan leader pointed. “Old coaching inn, just up the rise. Abandoned but dry!”She didn’t hesitate.By the time they reached the building, mud clung to her hem and wind clawed at her ears. The inn’s door groaned open on rusted hinges. Half the windows were shattered, but the hearth still held crumbling wood.One strike of flint later, fire bloomed.“Keep the flame low,” a rogue muttered. “Too much light draws worse than rain.”Sepharine crouched by the fire, pulling out her poultice kit. A man groaned in the corner—twisted ankle, raw palms.She moved fast, binding wounds, calming strangers. No one asked names.They were all just bodies seeking warmth.---By midnight, the storm howled louder than speech. Most had curled on cots or floorboards, snoring or whispering nightmares.Then the door burst open again.A man staggered in,
Last Updated : 2025-11-05 Read more