"Cheery place," Erich murmured.
"At least it doesn't smell like old ale," Lyan said.
They found the only inn easily. It was the biggest building in the village, with a sign showing a spring and a line of mountains behind it. A row of boots stood neatly outside the door.
Inside, the air was warm and thick with steam from cooking. Wooden tables filled most of the room. A long counter held clay jugs and chipped cups.
They took a table near a wall. Lyan sat with his back to the room out of habit, then forced himself to switch and face the door instead.
"Stop acting like someone will stab you in a saintess village," Erich muttered.
"People bring their problems here," Lyan said. "Where there are problems, there are men who want to profit from them."
"You're impossible," Erich said, but he didn't really argue.
A woman about Lyan's age came to their table. She had strong arms and tired eyes, but her smile was genuine enough.
"Travelers?" she asked.
"Climbers," Lyan said.
