Not a large town, there's never much hubbub, however this afternoon, the usual sounds of a market are an eerie cacophony of gasps and hushed voices. Jari saunters forward, paying no heed. His stomach growls. The earthy smell of fresh mushrooms from the nearest stall, and so many other foods about the market entice him. He grumbles, focuses then carries on.

  Looming ahead, the baron's manor stands apart from the hoi-polloi, surrounded by gardens and set upon a hill; its size decadent compared to homes nearby. Jari sighs, though it came out as a couple pants.

  Clack!

  Embarrassed and annoyed he snaps his jaw closed, his brow and ears drop as he swivels away from the path to the baron. Lunch first, then the baron, destination the town's largest tavern.

  . . .

  The sign, hanging from the building's corner, is emblazoned with a fox's head, painted white. The triangular fox head had clean lines and a crisp outline.

  In matching style another white fox appears to be dashing across the beam above the door. A worded sign declares to the world that this is Le Renard Blanc. Jari pauses, knowing who he's going to encounter inside. What are they going to think?

  Built in the former autocrats' haram, this tavern is far bigger than the town's once sole alehouse La Chèvre Barbue, which is now strictly 'Locals Only'.

  There's chatter, the smell of the famous perpetual stew, and a feeling of warm cosy air that comes from so many people in one place. He remembers helping to repair the building, running his hand down the door frame. Fuck it, time to enter.

  "WEREWOLF!" Cries a thin, pale fella seated at the back.

  Eeeee...

  The doors creak closed behind Jari, as an inebriated patron shoots up, drawing his sword only for it to slip from his grip, clattering onto a nearby table.

  A hush befalls the tavern, all eyes turn to Jari. The drunkard leans over the table reaching for his sword, only to push it off onto the floor. Jari carries on in, drawn by the enticing smell of the stew. Has it always smelt this good? He could sense so many more depths. The goat, pork, vegetables, a fragrant mix of leafy herbs—

  "Fucking get yer sword n' sit yer arse back down!" Hollars the tavern owner.

  With the fiery words of the matron, the folks turn back to their drinks, meals, discussions and or dealings. A tavern frequented by seasoned warriors, adventurers and everything in between, they're done assessing the threat.

  The patrons of this establishment know better than to get involved with whatever just walked in, espeicially as it's minding it's own business, showing no agression. A few still furtively eye the figure out of curiosity, but most have seen their fair share of the fantastical, this is not THAT exceptional.

  Now alert, ears straight, Jari aims himself toward the bar now, not the pot. Looking toward the woman at the bar, Jari picks up a familiar smell, her lavender perfume.

  Tack, tack, tack...

  Metal cap on stone floor. Jari reaches the bar, starts piling his gear against it. His helmet thunks against the bar. He wonders, can he ever wear it again? He leaves the waterskin on but adjusts the strap, pushing it from his front onto his back.

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  A one armed, old, tank of a man, on the stool beside, grunts his disdain, earning no response other than an ear briefly turned his way. Jari lifts the cloth wrapped sword dangling at his left side, and slides onto his seat.

  Seeing Miranda approach, Jari is sad to see how his new vision has robbed her of vibrancy. Her cheeks, he knows are rosy, her eyes, he knows are amber, now taunt him by appearing greyer.

  "Merlin's beard, that you Jari? Last I saw you was over month ago, heading out to do in a witch, I'm guessing she royally fucked you over huh? Hahaha!" Never one for tact, Miranda is the fast talking matron of Le Renard Blanc.

  A voluptuous, thirty nine year old, woman with bushy, mid neck length, grey speckled, black hair, strands of which striped her forehead; the rest is pushed back by a dark wood hair band. She wears a brown apron over a mustard, white ruffled dress.

  Though her bosom strains to peek above the bar, she has a commanding presence and the respect of her patrons, earned through a lifetime of honest service. This wasn't the first tavern she'd worked in, Jari remembers her surprise at old familiar faces visiting. Of course they'd come for her; in the tavern before, and now in this, her tavern, she is a legend.

  Miranda slams down a mug of ale. Jari who, after seating himself, had put both elbows on the bar, fists pushing up his cheeks. Now lowers his forearms, hands entwining the mug, and looks up at Miranda. His ears, like his mood, remain low.

  Miranda gives a warm smile, with only the slightest frown, as she looks him straight in the eyes. She begins appraising his new look. As she does, Jari reminds himself of her appearance.

  Never blessed with the best of looks, she is nonetheless beautiful thanks to her chubby, freckled face often being lit by a stunning smile. A smile sure to break through even the foulest mood.

  She has aged with grace, faint crows feet and a few wrinkles showing she'd lived well. A healthy glow showing she will continue so for much longer, to the delight of her regulars.

  Miranda reaches out to draw forward Jari's shirt collar and armour, going onto the tips of her toes, leaning over the bar to do so. She has already looked at his head and was curious where it ended. Jari inhales more of her captivating lavender scent.

  "You know I like dogs." Nodding toward her own, a Great Pyrenees.

  A large white haired dog bred among the mountains to be hardy and loyal. Jari looks over at Rogo, laying on a mat placed far enough from the fire and stew to allow Miranda in between. Usually the dog would come over to greet him, or at least wag his tail. Today Rogo is on guard, his head up, still, eyes following Jari's every move.

  "You're some kinda alsatian. Most all your old hair colour. Blackened round yer nose an'a tiny patch at'te very top, ors it front, of yer bottom lip." She gives this spot a light tap. Her touch electric.

  Jari knew her touch well. Despite an age gap of almost fifteen years, in his late teens he had been quite smitten by the mysterious older woman he'd found in an empty inn. Perhaps he'd exploited her; she had lost her husband, not long before. Perhaps she'd exploited him; he'd just survived a mugging and was lost in the capital. Still, Jari thanks the day he hadn't seen, due to bruises and swelling, the closed sign. He thought it lucky too, that Miranda had not yet locked the door after the last patron. Though no longer lovers, they are still close friends... occasionally, casually, still intimate.

  "You got a blackish faded monobrow, links to a line that splits n' goes part ways down either side the top yer nose, just below yer eyes."

  She just about reaches to stroke the top of his nose, tracing down, he stiffens fighting the urge to pull back and shudder at the tickling.

  "Kinda like a open sided bandit mask." She lets out a little laugh snort accompanied by a cheekier smile.

  "More darker, almost black fur in a line err... from the inner sides of yer ears across top yer forehead. Couple fingers wide. Not quite to the tips of yer ears— OH! Theys not the same." She looks from one ear to the other.

  "Yer right— No yer left, my right, urm... Yer ear here" She reaches for, but doesn't reach Jari's left ear. "It's got a dark fur tip. The others the lighter brown."

  She presses down on Jari's snout, he complies, bowing.

  "From off centre, a bit to yer left, the line cross top yer forehead starts going off to the back but fades... Huh" Guiding his head, still muzzle downward, to one side.

  "Bout three fingers down starts a dark stripe that runs all down the back yer neck and all round where your... Dog head starts... And oooh!" A little over excited, she tests Jari's patience with this inspection. Oblivious to his ears stiffening, fur and upper lip rising, she jostles his head from one side, then to the other.

  He shoots her an annoyed look, but either she doesn't notice, or it doesn't translate. He returns to a calm resting face, ear relaxing too, seeing her smile and feeling her touch a spot below his right ear.

  "There's a thumb size diamond patch here that ain't on the other side!" She proclaims, smile widening, eyes sparkling.

  She lets go of Jari's head, returning to a standing position behind the bar, as he sits back up.

  "And a stretched diamond on yer throat too."

  Miranda's exuberance falters, more mindful, she looks Jari in the eyes. He'd managed to inspect his own eyes and knew they weren't changed, in appearance at least, still steel grey.

  "How you going to get out of this mess?" She inquires ruefully.

  Jari can't help but let out a long, low whine.