The frontman sighed. “Gods damn it. Dump the furniture.” Out went the couches, the chairs, the chests crammed with clothes and armour. Out went the mattresses, the barstools, the bar. Matrick himself tipped the booze cabinet over the rail, wincing as he heard it smash. Clay caught Ganelon sizing up Piglet. “Hey,” he said, drawing the warrior’s attention, “no.”
