BOOKSELLER, reading: “Brass Eagle Inn. Food and board. Travelers, inquire within.” Huh. Odd place. A drink would be welcome, though. // [BOOKSELLER steps down from the wagon and ties up the horse. They pat her side.] // BOOKSELLER: Sit tight, girl. I won’t be long.

BOOKSELLER: It’s probably too rich for my taste. How much for a glass? // BARTENDER, flippant: Eh, two silver a bottle. // BOOKSELLER, aghast: That’s…at that price, you’re letting me rob you. You know how hard that stuff is to get?!

BOOKSELLER: I run–well, ran–a book shop. Sold lots of arcana: tomes, scrolls, spellbooks, esoterica. With all the stuff recently being said about witches, magic, etc etc, I was getting a lot of nasty looks thrown my way. No one would buy my stock, and I couldn’t bear to see them burned. My options were limited back home, y’know? Now, I’m looking for greener pastures. More…enlightened ones.