Lysa worked in quiet focus, knife shaving thin curls of wood that fell like pale feathers onto the table.
Eris watched her hands. Steady. Precise. No wasted movement.
"You always carry that?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "Knife? Yeah."
"For carving?"
"For lots of things."
Eris nodded slowly. Fair enough.
"What are you making?" he asked.
She finally turned the piece so he could see. A small wooden bird, wings tucked close, head lifted.
"It's not finished," she said.
"It looks like it's about to fly."
"That's the point."
Eris smiled faintly. "Does it?"
She gave him a look. "It's wood, not a miracle."
He leaned back. The inn felt warmer now. Safer than it had any right to be.
A woman behind the counter called out, "Lysa, you bothering the traveler again?"
Lysa didn't turn. "He looks like he needs bothering, Mara."
Mara snorted. "That's not how hospitality works."
"It should be," Lysa muttered.
Mara approached their table with two cups. She placed one in front of Eris.
"Welcome," she said kindly. "First drink's free. After that, you pay like everyone else."
"Thank you," Eris said.
Mara studied him briefly, the way older people do when they've seen enough to recognize hidden weight—but choose not to press on it.
"You passing through," she asked, "or hiding from your destiny like most sensible people?"
Eris blinked.
Lysa grinned. "See? I told you he was interesting."
Eris took a careful sip. The drink was warm and slightly sweet. Real. Grounding.
"Passing through," he said.
Mara nodded like that was the right answer, even if it wasn't the full truth.
"Well," she said, "while you're passing, you're under this roof. That means you're safe from weather, wolves, and most bad decisions."
"Most?" Eris asked.
She smiled. "You still have free will."
Lysa pointed her knife at him. "Use it carefully."
Eris laughed again, softer this time.
Outside, wind moved through the trees in a slow, steady rhythm. A normal sound. A living sound.
Not destiny.
Not prophecy.
Just a place that breathed.
And for a moment—just a moment—Eris let himself breathe with it.
But deep beneath that calm, something subtle shifted.
Not a threat.
Not yet.
More like a question the world had just started asking.
And the answer was sitting at a wooden table, pretending to be a traveler.