"Sejuani! Are you drinking again?!" Bjerg shouts.
"So what if I am?" Sejuani replies dismissively. "Old enough to kill, but not old enough to drink?"
Bjerg steps forward and pulls her mug away, sniffing it.
"Honey goat milk." His nose wrinkles, and he sets it back down.
"Serves you right," she smirks.
Meanwhile, in the background, the innkeeper merrily grabs Wulf by the shoulders.
"A new face! Come, let me treat you to my finest of beverages!"
"Gragas?" Wulf blurts, confused.
"Gragas? Such a name to reminisce over," he chuckles merrily. "But no, lad, I'm not Gragas. That legend must be getting old- if he's not already dead from age. How did you hear of him?"
"Ah, memories. Brief ones. I can't remember much. Only his name and, well, what he always did."
"Drink! Haha! Well, you've stirred happy, youthful memories in me, lad, in such a short time! Let me pour you a drink, this one's free!"
"Hey, that's not fair!" Sejuani grumbles. "Why can this weakling drink as he pleases?"
"He is a wanderer, and not the daughter of the great Warmother," the innkeeper grins before adding. "Word spread quickly!"
An owl hoots, causing Wulf to jump as the fast fluttering of wings startles him. It flies around and lands on the innkeeper's thick arm with a carrot, dropping it into a pot of stew he begins to stir.
"What about me? I'm not a daughter of the Warmother?" a patron asks with a smirk.
"No, you're the daughter of a poro. So fluffy and cute!"
"Pfft!"
"Hey, poros make out like bandits! That should be a compliment," the patron raises his mug and chuckles.
"I'm Wulf," he says casually before sitting on a raised stool. Bjerg is beside him, in between him and Sejuani.
"Bold naming," Sejuani comments, leaning around Bjerg's bulky figure. "After which wolf?"
"Just... wolves?"
She snorts and disappears, followed by loud slurping noises.
"The lone wanderer, Wulf. The lone Wulf Wanderer, haha!" the innkeeper says, scooping up several coins in front of Bjerg resting on the counter. Their gazes meet, silently communicating, before he starts digging through drawers.
'They have their own code,' Wulf thought. 'And their own way of fucking with people if they want.'
Two bowls come out, and the innkeeper scoops two large ladles into each. Like what the owl dropped in, there are plenty of cooked-down vegetables and tenderized meat chunks in a deep brown brothy liquid. Much less of a soup, it's more like a gravy.
"Slow-cooked stew. It's been cookin' since yesterday," the innkeeper says, before sliding two mugs of an identical foamy liquid, most likely alcohol, up to them.
"Enjoy," he says, sliding back a coin to Bjerg. "His drink's free."
"This is Elnuk shit," Sejuani complains. "If I were to take down a mammoth single-handedly tomorrow, you still wouldn't allow it?"
Bjerg shook his head. "Krall here lets you get away with plenty."
"Aye," the innkeeper grins. "Can't always be a stiff!"
"I'm the loose one, not you!"
"Except when it comes to Sejuani," Krall, the innkeeper, retorts.
"She has responsibilities. And Kalkai is less forgiving toward those outside of her tribe, like myself."
"Aye, so let me be the loose one in this case."
Bjerg sighed, tilting his head to the side as his hands gesture upward in understanding. He glances at Sejuani with reluctance before digging into his food.
Wulf was already halfway done with his. It was very rich. The vegetables were soft, soaked in animal fat and the flavors of the stew. The gravy-soup was fruity and sweet too, as if it had wine for a base and onions that were caramelized.
And the beverage? It was thick, like dark ale, but had a sweetness that reminded him of apple cider.
'The last warm meal, or second to last, before our journey. Probably won't taste good food like this again for a while. Plain potatoes or unsalted meat, jerky, from here on,' Wulf thought, trying to imagine what the journey would be like.
Surprisingly, everyone else was silent too. Not because of him, but because they were digging into their food as well. It was something Wulf noticed that varied depending on the crowd. If people were hungry and tired, they spoke less and enjoyed the food more, or at least those he was around.
After food, it was yapping time. As it was here.
"Three-day journey, and you'll be teaching this boy?" Krall asks.
Bjerg nods silently, sipping on a second beverage.
"Don't think you'll run into any wolves or wildclaws?"
"I hope not. I've lost my sword. But the first frosts are only just setting in. They shouldn't be too active yet."
"How did you lose your sword?" Sejuani exclaimed. "You've had it since I was a child."
"You are still a child," Bjerg snorts, before tilting his head toward Wulf. "Wrestling this guy. We had an initial misunderstanding."
The innkeeper strokes his beard, glancing at Wulf curiously. "You are old if you let it slip that easily."
"I'm not weak!" Wulf snapped.
"Didn't say you were, lad. But Bjerg isn't someone you can easily wrestle with your size, let alone force him to lose his family's blade."
There was some silence after the last bit. A family's sword? Clearly, an unpleasant loss for Bjerg. Wulf could see it in Bjerg's twitching expression as he sipped on his beverage again.
"It's all in the past. It was old and chipped. I doubt it would've lasted much longer," Bjerg said, and Krall nodded silently before handing him another beverage.
"Sorry. If I make enough money, I'll buy-"
"There's no point going there, lad," Krall said empathetically. "Family swords have history. And the longer the history, the more value it has. In some cases, if they're prestigious enough, magical runes are melded into the blade."
"Mine wasn't that latter," Bjerg said. "If you aren't a Warmother, you must find your own, and your Warmother must allow you to keep it. I've tried, especially for ones that have regenerative properties, but like Krall said, it's all in the past."
"I doubt Kalkai would've let you keep it," Krall said.
"Why?" Wulf asks.
"Those who bend the knee aren't allowed such luxuries. Nor are the defeated, until they prove their worth again."
'Yet here I am,' Wulf thought, watching Bjerg's grip tense for a split second. His eyes quickly snap sideways, not at Wulf directly, but clearly indicating that he would've been the target.
Wulf sucks in air and looks at the bottom of his mug.
"Another?" Krall asks.
Bjerg nods for him and slides the returned coin back over the counter.
"Get some rest. We have plenty of travel tomorrow," Bjerg said as the fresh foamy beverage slid in front of Wulf.
-------------------
A faint howl echoes through the night. Wulf sits up with a pained groan, clutching his side. It hurts to breathe and move. The swelling was making everything difficult.
He hadn't asked for any medicine or painkillers because of what he'd heard. Wulf felt guilty even though it wasn't his fault. The alcohol had acted as a painkiller, but it wore off into the night.
Upstairs was a series of rolled-out furs all in a singular room. Bjerg, multiple strangers, Sejuani, and himself, all sprawled out. There used to be a gigantic bed, but it had been thrown out after a patron vomited on it and ruined it.
'Why didn't Sejuani go home? Surely she has some fancy, cushy bed waiting for her,' Wulf thought, glancing at her snoring figure.
'Fuckin'- I need to piss.'
His breath hitched as he struggled to rise without aggravating his side too much or groaning from the pain. Wulf went outside, did his business in the freezing cold, and came back inside.
'It isn't even winter yet. How the fuck do you piss or do business if the temperature gets any lower?!' Wulf complained internally, adjusting himself.
Lowering himself back down, he couldn't help but let out a faint groan of pain. Trying to lie down with cracked or fractured ribs, while your bed was on the floor with only a few furs for cushion, wasn't fun. He probably looked like an old man trying to lower himself.
In fact, to Sejuani, who was peeking at him while fake snoring, that's exactly what he looked like. But she didn't say anything, and the night carried on.
The next morning, Wulf was the last to wake. Perhaps it was the cold and the injury, but he felt hungover and exhausted. He groaned, this time unconsciously, as he sat up. Something shifted on his chest and fell onto the floor, attracting his attention.
'A bag?' Wulf thought, picking up a small hide-looking pouch. Inside were small green leaves.'What is this?'
Bjerg suddenly swung the door wide open, looking at him with... alarm? Concern? Wulf couldn't quite make it out, but Bjerg did sigh.
"Finally, you're awake. Get up. We need to get moving. There's leftover stew downstairs-" Bjerg paused. "Sejuani left that for you. She said to take no more than three in the morning."
"What is it?"
"Why should I know?"
"What?" Wulf asked, dumbfounded.
"Get up." Bjerg shook his head and closed the door, leaving Wulf sat there, baffled.
"…What?"