Chapter 19: Threadless
Velren stepped out of his room, creaking the wooden floor beneath his feet. The cool night air greeted him immediately, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and blooming night flowers. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the moonlight bathed the clearing in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped in the distance, blending their song with the occasional hoot of an owl.
His gaze wandered across the small garden illuminated by the moon's gentle light. Amidst the greenery, he spotted a familiar figure slumped on a bench—a bottle dangling loosely in one hand. Several empty bottles surrounded the old man like a makeshift barrier.
'Seriously...? Sköll said he cut back...' Velren thought, twitching his lips in disbelief.
He approached quietly. Yet, as if sensing him, the old man stirred with a grunt, fluttering his eyelids open. His gaze, bleary but oddly sharp, settled on Velren.
"Oh, you're finally awake," gramps drawled, half-drunk but coherent enough.
Velren nodded, glancing at the bottles scattered about.
'Cut back, huh? Sure.'
"Where's Fenrir?" he asked.
"Hmph. Off keepin' watch in the forest, I reckon," the old man replied, waving vaguely toward the treeline.
Gramps patted the empty spot beside him.
"Sit. Ain't gonna talk to ya standin' there like a scarecrow."