The lodge's cafeteria was simple—wooden beams, old stone floor, and long tables with benches smoothed by time. A hearth crackled at the far end, its heat soft and steady. Smoke from the morning's fire clung faintly to the rafters.
He sat alone.
A few villagers murmured in a corner, drinking broth and dipping stale biscuits into it. No one paid him any mind—except for the innkeeper.
She moved with the easy grace of someone used to working from dawn. Her fur was a soft orange-red, her ears alert, and a pale apron was tied snug over her simple tunic. A long fox tail swayed behind her as she approached.
"Morning, mister," she said cheerfully. "What'll it be?"
The traveler looked up, eyes tired, face unreadable.
"Anything warm."
She gave a small smile and a flick of the ear.
"Got it."
Without another word, she turned and disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen. The faint clatter of metal and bubbling water followed.
He waited.
Steam rolled gently from the fire. His fingers rested loosely on the table's edge, twitching now and then as if remembering something. Eyes fixed on nothing.
Eventually, the door creaked open again.
The innkeeper returned, carrying a clay bowl in one hand and a wooden plate in the other.
She placed both gently in front of him.
"Corn soup," she said with a little nod. "And the bread's hard, but fresh."
She straightened up and added with a wink, "Enjoy."
Then she vanished back into the kitchen.
The traveler stared at the food for a moment. The soup steamed lightly. Bits of soft yellow corn, bits of root vegetables, faint traces of herbs he didn't recognize.
He took a spoonful and brought it to his lips.
Warm.
He took another. Then tore a bit of the bread and soaked it before chewing slowly, silently.
From the corner of his vision, he felt them.
Eyes.
Peeking out from the crack in the kitchen door were three small faces. Two of them had the same russet fur and sharp eyes as the innkeeper—fox kits. The third had shorter, coarse gray fur, rounder ears, and wide, curious yellow eyes.
A young wolf cub.
They whispered behind the door, giggling quietly, poking each other to look longer.
He didn't react. Just kept eating.
They kept watching.- - - - -
The bowl was empty.
The bread, too, was gone—only a few crumbs scattered across the wooden plate. The traveler sat still for a moment, hands folded loosely, eyes distant again. The steam had faded. The warmth lingered only faintly in his chest.
Hazel, the innkeeper, passed by with a cloth in one hand and a tray balanced in the other. She paused when she noticed his cleared table.
"All done?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, ears perked.
He gave a small nod.
"Would you like anything else?"
"No."
It came out low and even. No pause. No change of tone. But not unkind.
Hazel smiled anyway. She set the tray down on the table behind him and began to wipe it clean. Her voice lowered just a touch as she leaned in slightly.
"Don't mind the little ones," she said, flicking her eyes toward the crack in the kitchen door, where three small faces still peeked with open curiosity. "Haven't seen a new face in a while. Especially not a human one."
The traveler's eyes drifted toward the door, then back to the table. He said nothing.
Hazel finished cleaning and straightened up, hands on her hips.
"Well, I hope the food helped a little. If you need anything—food, clothes, directions, a place to sit and do nothing—just ask."
She gave him a small, warm grin.
"I'm Hazel, by the way."
She didn't wait for his name in return. Only gave a gentle nod and picked up the tray again.
"Enjoy your time in the village," she added over her shoulder as she walked away. "As much as Frostvale lets you."
The door creaked shut behind her.
The traveler remained seated for a while longer.
Outside the frosted window, snow fell softly over the rooftops. The morning chimes had gone quiet.
The window, snow continued to fall in slow, steady flakes. The village murmured. The warmth of the soup lingered faintly in his chest.
And somewhere in the distance, a single bell rang once. Hollow. Faint.