Dayraven and Imharr could have passed many days in Wolvendon had they not remembered the urgency in Urd’s warnings about Bagsac and other priests of the Way. “We’ll stay one night,” said Imharr. “First thing is to find an inn. We can buy some food there since ours is running low.” “And a hot meal?” “Of course. Accompanied by some of Wolvendon’s finest ale.”
This is fantasy.
