The words of one of the many anonymous travellers who had stopped by the inn occured to her as she pondered the greatest conundrum she had been faced with in the past week or so. There had been no remarkable occurances at the inn, and many of the regular patrons were off on some adventure or another, the details of which evaded her less-than-perfect memory. Surely they would be back soon, and the walls would once again be filled with the familiar sound of their jovial banter, and with any luck the ache in her heart would ease. While she would not admit it, she occaisionally cried herself to sleep at night, worried for the safety of the friends who had treated her so kindly. After all, she had experienced a small slice of adventuring herself, and almost died in the process. But on those nights she would muffle her sobs in the softness of her pillow until sleep consumed her. She made her decision with all the definance a general might order a flank of soldiers to engage the enemy on the field of battle, and in much the same way, she would have to live with the consequences of a wrong decision. She sighed as she stirred the spices into the stew, having chosen to use a mix of spices brought from elsewhere in the land, as opposed to more locally available selection. But of course most travellers didn't care what the food tasted like, as long as it didn't tast like harpy meat, and her cullinary efforts would no doubt be wasted on the unsmiling fighter whom had ordered it. "Stew," she said, dejectedly, "no one aver asks for anything worthwhile" She moved over to the potatoes, that were simmering in a nearby pot, becoming slowly infused with delicate flavours that few people appreciated, especially not after a few mugs of ale. "Any idiot can make stew," she muttered, knowing that while she shouldn't think such negative thoughts, she was right, "but very few people can actually cook" The smells were delightful to her sensitive nose, and she was almost sorry to waste something so delightful on someone who had demonstrated no abilities beyond scowling and killing. As she arranged the meal on the plate, adding the final degree of perfection through the presentation, she thought back to the words of the traveller. "Some people like the lull," she repeated to herself, before retunrning her attention to the matter at hand, "I don't"