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."
Kugel waved an angry hand at her, but let himself be guided
around a huge farmer, who tipped a hat to him reverently but put it
back on and drew up a chair not far from Elga and the knight. Otik
returned to his work.
Though a few folk stopped for meals at noon, it wasn't until
dusk on normal days and well after moonrise that the Inn attracted
many weary travelers and locals. Few would waste the light, and
fewer still were so desperate to reach destinations that they would
travel late. With their meals Otik served hot cider and the old ale,
warm spiced potatoes and, by request only, a venison "that
warmed winter hearts," as he said. Outside there were already thin
patches of ice on the brooks, and the trees were leafless. Early in
the evening most of the venison was gone. Otik could scarcely
remember an evening when the Inn was so busy and full.
The stranger with the eye-patch, looking more battered than
rough, approached the bar. "Ale." He looked at the mugs, then
with more respect at the polished tankards on their pegs behind the
bar. "Tankard."
"A moment, sir." Otik gestured to Tika, who passed him the
tap. He held it and closed his eyes, moving his lips, then pushed it
against the side of the cask and hammered it home through the
sealer with one sure stroke.
The stranger spun his coin meaningfully, but Otik only smiled.
"Put your coin away, sir. The first draw of a new batch is always
my gift
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