<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F736x%2F74%2Fe8%2F01%2F74e801a7e96d44b8ddf9116df9585062--scottish-warrior-celtic-warrior.jpg&amp;hash=29e8ec0dc72e1254ae5437e921d7ed3e" href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/74/e8/01/74e801a7e96d44b8ddf9116df9585062--scottish-warrior-celtic-warrior.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Nathan</a>stood in the shadow of the door and watched with amusement as the girl danced with an invisible partner to music he couldn't hear.<br/><br/>It was cold out.  Unseasonably cold for late summer.  As if fall had decided it was going to come early.  So the heat of the fireplace felt especially welcome to an old soldier passing through.  Some might have been confused by his profession though, given the weapons on his back.  The pommel of a sword peeked over his left shoulder, a lute over his right.  How that lute had survived all the battles he'd fought, he had no idea.  Often flung off to the side as he'd grab his sword, it was somewhat the worse for wear, but still played sweetly.  He probably should have left it on the saddle of his horse, along with his bow.  But while no one had ever tried to steal his bow, they had tried to steal his lute.  So now he kept it close.<br/><br/>He waited until the end of the wench's performance before entering the room.<br/><br/>"Barmaid, would you kindly bring me a scotch?" he asked, having caught her eye.  Then he walked over to warm his hands at the fire before taking a stall next to it.  Pulling the sword and lute off his back, he leaned the lute against the wall, set the sword on the table, and seated himself facing the door.