With the forest behind him, Danir had taken rest in a glade just south
of Henbury village. He had business there, and he wanted to be alert.
Though he hadn’t visited in some years, rumor was his old friend was still occasionally seen skulking about.
“No doubt drowning his sorrows in a pint as often as not,” he confided as he brushed Yuri. “But, he’ll be most useful.”
As long as his old chum hadn’t taken up with the wrong sort, he could be relied on.
He swallowed water from his skin, remembering Henbury’s legendary mead.
“Small sips,” he mused.
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