The outside of the Salty Maid was unremarkable aside from the signboard hanging above the door, if perhaps a little large to be anything other than what it was. Inside, Einarr fancied he could hear the music that would have played before the place was abandoned. Despite the twilight he could see that furs and other hunting trophies hung from the walls, and the smell of wood smoke lingered in the air, although it had gone stale already. Were it not for the dirty plates and tankards that littered the table, and the bench someone had overturned in their haste to leave, he might have been able to believe it was merely closed.
Such fanciful delusion, however, would get them no closer to their goals. Unfortunately, he was no longer so sure staying here would, either. Still, though, they needed a place to sleep for the night. Einarr sighed: it…
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