There was the sound of wingbeats and a heavy thump as a body landed in the snow behind her. “Yeah, I checked the roads, both ways, nothing a dozen or so—” The voice paused as Shortbeak whirled around, dragging her captive bodily around with her and saw a stunned-looking yellow griffon with  heavy weather gear and far too many daggers for her liking at his side. It clicked and the illusion she had forced upon herself to keep her from doing what she wanted fell away. The inn was full of wayfarers, a fair number of traveling merchants, and relatively unsecured goods lying in the courtyard with the wagons and the fenwyrs needed to carry them. Not to mention the wealth in the inn itself, and however much they could scrabble together by holding merchants for ransom from their rich friends and family. Between them, they had only a handful of guards, two trained soldiers, herself, Fallow, and about four or five caravan guards. If they had enough griffons…