Noah nodded in understanding when Elann explained the wound had been acquired before their meeting. Knowing there was nothing to be done about it, and that it was a waste of time and energy to worry about it, he sat back in his chair again. He thought back on his reaction. Was it an overreaction? A thought lingered on his father and how he would’ve behave in such a situation where Noah took Elann’s place and wound replaced by a scraped knee. “Shake it off! You’re a man!” he would say before laughing his hearty laugh. His laughter always served to diffuse the situation without fail. Even though Noah’s mother would shake her head at the laugh, worried about her baby, it had toughened Noah up some. Now, as a man grown, he could deal with scrapes, bruises, and cuts without as much as flinching.
That’s when his right hand went to his left side, under his ribs. He wondered if a bruise had developed where he had fallen earlier in the orphanage. Surely it had by now. He applied a slight pressure to the spot under his rib cage and winced as pain shot through his chest. The area was tender and no doubt turning into a blue and green contusion. Oddly enough the injury didn’t grow agitated when he breathed his normal breaths but would, without a doubt, if he took larger breaths than the usual. He didn’t test this theory.
His attention went from his wound to the barmaid that approached the table now. He rested an elbow on the table and this rested his face in the palm of his hand. There he would tap his long, calculating fingers against his cheekbone. He muttered a thank you to the kind woman and quietly admired her ability to handle so many drinks with relative ease. How did she not mix the drinks up? Was there even a thought to her movements or had she done rehearsed this act so much that it became an afterthought, only interrupted by a rare mistake on her part? Noah’s eyes further wandered until the maid disappeared behind the door that led to the second part of the tavern. He assumed it was the kitchen where their food was being prepared and the ale was being fermented.
He examined the mug that was placed before him. It was a tall thing made of clay with a handle beginning near the lip of the mug and curving until it reconnected near the base of the thing. Even more interesting was the detail and texture applied to it. Carved into the structure of the mug were rings to give the mug character to compliment its purpose. He doubted that many of the patrons who came to the Stallion even looked at their cups long enough before being overcome with the thirst acquired after working a long day. He felt that thirst coming now but before he could lift the mug to his lips Elann spoke.
“I’ve never really given it any thought,” he said to answer her. He lifted his mug to his nose now and inhaled. There was a smell he could not distinguish for he had no idea what ingredients went into the process of making ale. All he could notice was the white foamy cap dotting with bubbles both big and small. When they eventually popped at their own pace they released the scent of the drink and wafted up towards his nose.
“I like tea,” he said, “water too.” He paused and thought of as to why he liked those things. Besides being coaxed into drinking tea as a boy with his mother, water was the only thing he craved when shifted and in his more human form. “It’s clean… crisp, soft, pure.” He hoped that explained it. He spoke the words as they came to his mind, not giving them another thought before saying them.
“What about you?” he asked, setting his mug down without taking a sip.
With one hand he grasped the handle of the cup and, with the other, he grasped the open side -- the side opposite of the handle. The clay felt dry in his hands and worn to the touch. It had been in use for probably years now. It had even faded some on the handle, once a amber brown color like the body of the mug, that now resembled something pale like a deer’s antlers. It gave the thing a charm though, one that Noah appreciated. It had been through a lot but still worked.
