You know I'm a forgiver.

The dusk passed smoothly into night, save for the abrupt cries of the thunderous sky above. Lightning reigned over the small village, spooking the horses and whoever dared to pass through the unquiet roads. The tavern became more full than usual with customers; travelers and villagers who were trying to escape the violence of the weather. They came, they drank, they lingered. Only until their thirst was quenched and their minds clouded did they decide to travel again into a storm like this.

The boy and girl remained inside the tavern, seemingly protected from the forces of nature, working and serving until the last of the customers had gone. Some money was earned by ill-paid tips, mostly gathered by Miraye, but the rest of what was made went directly to the bartender. They were still in debt; they would need to work into the following day, and until when, Tic didn’t know. But the day that he would return to the Sink hung in his mind like a Heavenly star, one that would guide him free from the tribulation of the past. He had longed for it ever since he’d been captured; ever since he was caught in the Shrike’s grasp, and used. But that day was now nearing, and still he didn’t know; would they reject him as Larkin had said so?

The night had soon taken over completely, casting a black backdrop behind the electric white of the lightning. The tavern’s once occupied insides were empty again, except for a man sitting at the bar, his head sunken and low. Numerous glasses sat in front of him, their sides gleaming with emptiness. As Tic was putting up the chairs onto tables for the night, and Miraye swept the tavern floor, he could hear the man muttering and blubbering something. He didn’t know what, but as he returned to the counter to wash it clean, the man continued to mutter.

“Shouldn’tve left him,” the man said lamentably, his head hanging low over the empty glasses. Tic turned his glance to the man for a moment, taking a towel to the countertop and wiping away the excess water.

“I could’ve stopped… I could’ve helped,” he spoke again, hiccupping. His voice seemed choked and wretched, held back by drink. Tic felt a twinge of pity for him, and his own voice spoke softly.

“Who?” he asked.

The drunkard was silent for a few moments, gazing down into the abyss of his empty glass. He lifted it to his lips, tasting the few final drops, and set it back down.

“He was lying there on the road, but I left him.. I left him.. but..” he paused, hiccupping.

“.. he was still alive,” the man whispered, more to himself than Tic. He began to speak again, but his voice turned into a mumble, and the mumble into a sob. His face was covered as he buried it in his hands.

Feeling helpless, Tic hesitantly put a hand to the man’s shoulder. He could tell the man had drunk himself into some sort of delusional misery, but felt as though he shouldn’t ignore it. He opened his mouth to say something of comfort, but his hand was suddenly seized, squeezed painfully tight. The man had lifted his head, staring at Tic keenly, eager to dispel his story to someone. “It was a man..,” he whispered, eyes widening, “.. with an arm of metal!”

The man’s eyes drooped, his grip loosening, his head falling forward. It knocked over the empty mugs as it hit the counter, but before Tic could do anything, he heard the familiar growl of the bartender in front of him.

“Leave him be,” he grunted at Tic, standing behind the drunkard and shaking his head. “He’ll wake up in the morning with a tab. And you, you and the girl, you’re done for the night.”

Tic nodded, seeing that Miraye had already finished her work and was waiting at one of the tables. She still looked tired, he thought, even more so now that it was late. He wondered if she’d heard the drunkard; he had talked of a man with a metal arm, and Tic could only think of one person to match the description. But even if it was who he thought, they were still bound to the tavern; day and night. Night… a sudden, frantic question came to his mind, and the bartender spoke as if reading his thoughts.

“By your looks—and smell, I’m guessing you don’t have a place to sleep tonight,” he said, knowing there were other facts behind his reasoning. Tic felt like nodding again, but he chose not to, and instead cast his stare downwards. The man shifted closer, looking behind him to Miraye, then back to Tic. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind, and after a few seconds, spoke again. “I have space in a room upstairs. You two can sleep there.”

Tic looked up, uttering a soft “Thank you.” The man nodded, and Tic moved out from behind the bar, to the table where Miraye sat. She looked to be sleeping again; her head was buried in her arms. Though he didn’t want to wake her, he spoke her name, gently raising his voice to stir her from a possible dreamworld.

“Miraye.”