Role

Chapter 8

For some, being settled means being restless, and after Oirwn established
herself in Galadon, she found herself haunted by whispers of the poem she
once composed, drunk on whiskey and despair. The Inn of the Eternal Star
offered haven from these thoughts. There were good people, good drinks,
and...something else. Could it be that Oirwn belonged here?

"There's more to me than the sum of my parts," she told Fyvall one day, as
they shared a tin of pipeweed tobacco on his back porch. "I've done not
much more than take for my entire life. So many have helped me. So many
have been kind. I'm starting to think that I could also give."

Fyvall chuckled for a moment and took a long draw off his pipe. He blew
several smoke rings which hovered in midair for a bit before the wind
blew them into disarray. "I told you good deeds will move forward on their
own. So. What will you do?"

"Well, thanks to Atavia, I know I'm not an awful actress. And thanks to
you, I'm brave enough to try my hand at poetry... I want to prove to the
Heralds that I have talent enough to join them. I don't want my hands in
any sort of war. I'd rather help others remember there's more to life than
all that."

"Hard to believe," Fyvall said with a grin, "that you are the same girl
I slung over my shoulder in a blizzard two years ago."

"A lot can happen in two years," said Oirwn. "Especially when you start
at rock bottom. You can only go up from there."