
Stopped in his tracks by the woman's firm grasp, Fejar grew tense. She was certainly being awfully demanding. Her map was marked the same as his, with the Drowning Wench circled, and little notes here and there. The inn was not far, but he did so dread drawing attention. Alas... He sighed, relaxing slightly as he turned to face her. "Very well, the new cloak can wait." His voice and expression had in them subtle hints of frustration. "To the Drowning Wench, then?"
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