She meandered around the perimeter of the inn. As cold as it was, it would at least wile away some of the time otherwise spent arguing pointlessly over prices for goods they personally were never going to sell nor see the money for. She supposed she should be grateful, however, for it was good money, and she had proven herself more than invaluable to both Fallow and the guilds in the year since he had taken her with him, which she was distinctly proud of. Amelia was happy too, managing to afford her own equipment for… whatever the Tartarus it was she was doing. She kept insisting it wasn’t alchemy despite the copious amounts of glass beakers and tiny fires and weird coloured liquids in jars. Wasn’t potion brewing either, nor was it chemistry. To her credit, she had tried explaining it to her, but Shortbeak couldn’t for the life of her understand what she was on about. What the hell was the point of distilling a different kind of water, one that could be used to change what it was absorbed by without the use of chemicals or magic? And for what purpose? She knew she should have discouraged her studying that esoteric nonsense. What kind of proper mage or alchemist would consider her for an apprentice if she kept going the way she was? Okay, the alchemists maybe – those guys were nuts – but the point remained.