Sharp coughs and reddened face of the dark haired outsider easily attracted the attention of the owner of the inn. A mixture of amusement and pity filled the old man. It had always been amusing to witness the struggle of travelers who was not used to the harsh terrain of the west. However, at the same time, a small part of the local innkeeper saw her daughter in Grace. Regardless, holding such sympathy didn’t keep the old timer from giving out a chuckle. Walking out from behind the counter, he neared his foreign customer, currently the only one who occupied a table on the ground floor of the building. Stern fingers patted the young woman on the back, the light taps moving the seated patron back and forth on her seat. “Ya alrahyt gal?” The old man asked, still snickering. Covering her mouth with one hand, distressed eyes of the woman looked up at the man, nodding at him a few times. He made a favor, and took the glass from the table. “Ya one of thuh waggy tails?” The man gestured Grace to follow him, walking back to the bar. “Ah hope not. Them painted gals cuttin’ me out awf business.” He raised the glass to his weary lips. Where only one sip of it was enough to give the woman a hard time, the whole liquid ran down the old man’s throat at one swoop.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry. Me what?” Grace was having trouble understanding the man, not entirely sure if they spoke the same language. “Oh no. I don’t work there.” Especially these days, she wasn’t quick to trust people. Still, the young woman followed the man, climbing on top of a high stool in front of the counter.<br/><br/>“There…” Instead of liquid courage, now water filled Grace’s emptied glass, a little muddy and lacking clarity. “Adam’s ale. Feyts ya mowr.” The old innkeeper suggested. Although the outsider didn’t intend to be rude, she didn’t drink the blurry water to quench her thirst. Her slender fingers closed around the glass, however failed to raise it up. The man poured another glass of whiskey for himself. Unlike his young guest, his coughs and grunts were chronic. For someone of his age, the sixty four year old looked to be doing fine at first glance. His heart however, had been beating a tad less strong each passing day. He just drank too much. His lungs were not so well, a whistle accompanying his shallow breaths. He attended to his regular duties still. The old innkeeper turned around to grab a bottle. His stiff fingers gripped the handle of a sharp knife as he worked on a stuck cork. “What brought yo bang up lil’ ass over hair?” He asked while facing away.<br/><br/>Her hands and big eyes perked up from the liquor filled glass. She was still having difficulty understanding him, but the old man managed to rip a hearty giggle from Grace, not a common sight. In fact, for the first time since her arrival.<br/><br/>“My posterior, good sir, happens to be none of your concern.” Spicing her statement with some exaggeration, Grace responded in a joking manner, while a light giggle embellished her words. Placing the knife on the counter and the bottle on the shelf, the man faced the young woman again. Grace’s gaze was attracted to the sharp looking cutting tool as the old fellow grasped his glass. From the knife, her eyes drifted to the aged fingers of her host. He held that drinkware firm. Thick digits were secure around the glass, his fingers blunt next to the sharp knife, making Grace wonder just how many fingers he needed to hold it that tight. “It is beyond me how do you drink that thing.” Her eyes found the man’s, and her own thin fingers the blade.<br/><br/>As if it was a vulgar display of manly strength, the old man tossed the sharp liquid down, almost in one gulp. An accomplished smirk stretched the wrinkles in his sour face. “Har me lass, ah can squeeze a rattlesnayuk in it, eend it still be faahn.” He claimed, his voice coming out deeper, his heart beating faster.<br/><br/>“Splendid…” Grace paused. Her smile slowly faded. She slid the knife to the side, so it wouldn’t harm anyone. “Because I have poured enough poison in it to kill a dray horse.”<br/><br/>It was a funny suggestion. Old and young, the odd pair shared a contagious burst of laughter as a different kind of humor enlightened the unbusy inn. When the hilarity ceased, silence fell upon the place once again.<br/><br/>“If it’s death what you wish to see, you don’t need an old fellow like me.” The man broke the silence after a while. “No, perhaps you should venture into the mines.” He continued. That wasn’t a pleasant topic to discuss though, so he changed the subject. “I wish I had a daughter just like you.” The man sighed. “As audacious as she is pretty.” He told the outsider. “Do you really think so? Is this what you see?” Grace questioned. In this foreign world, she needed and adored such courtesy. “He was a fool you know. Deserved what he got.” The innkeeper claimed, which knitted his young guest’s dark brows. “Look where it left me though? I didn’t deserve it.” The widowed brunette balled her soft fingers into firm fists, the image of her husband in a pool of blood briefly flashing in her mind. “Certainly… Still, I can’t help but wonder, if he would have suffered the same ill fate if he hadn’t been so well heeled?” The old man’s voice disrupted the disturbing image on the woman’s mind. Only, it wasn’t him who uttered the words, but the woman who had been talking to herself. “Sir?!” Grace exclaimed. “That is a secret. I trust you would keep it.” She pushed the man’s motionless upper body off the counter to let him lie in silence behind the bar. An unfortunate, sudden death for sure. However, his heart had already been beating a tad less strong each passing day. And his lungs were not so well. He just drank too much. Grace got to her feet. Grabbing the knife off the counter, she retired to her room upstairs.