“Georgia, bring us another round, will you? Our mouths are beginning to feel gritty like we were stranded in the sand flats without a drop of water in sight.” Georgia looked towards the caller. A man of middle age, often found at the same table with the same group of friends each night at the end.
She responded back, “I’ll get you a round soon enough. Let’s hope your breath doesn’t smell as bad as the carcasses rotting under those hot desert suns of the sand flats.” The caller responded, “Oh, you’re full of funny today aren’t you!” She called back as she filled the mugs up with more ale for the group of them to drink. “More truth in it then the lies your table circulates everyday around here.”
One of the parties at the table, a younger man with long braided hair joked to the group, “What’s she knows about truth. You’d think she’s got a standoff understanding of it the way she criticizes us.” Another older member of their group spoke out and said, “Careful now, remember who your talking to.” The younger man said, “she just a girl, what’s there to be worried about? You think she could do something about me, Ha!” He then swirled the last of his ale around in the bottom of the glass.
The older man responded, “Get her mad enough and you’ll find out what a tiger she can be. She also carries fangs in the form of those long knives she keeps strapped to her at the top of her calf high boots. I’ve seen her use those before and she knows how to make them bite.” The younger man then said, “Alright, I’ll leave her alone.” He paused a moment then said, “Don’t she know though that the truth is what you can get people to believe in.”
The rest of them at the table chimed in and said, “Yeah, that’s right, we all know that it’s easy enough to bend the facts. A little bit here or there and you can get what people thought they believed into something you want them to.” The table broke out in a chorus of laughter. Despite their teasing banter, Georgia held her own against the group, her wit just as sharp as their tongues. Those that knew her well enough because they frequented the inn, knew she was not a stranger to knowing the truth of things, even when others attempted to hide it.Perhaps it was her experience as an innkeeper’s daughter – a lifetime spent listening to the stories of countless travelers passing through, learning how to separate the myths from the truths. It appears she had an ability to recognize the latter no matter how masterfully disguised, much to the amusement or dismay of those around her.
As the evening progressed, the inn’s common room filled with the typical patrons: weary travelers, local
farmers, and craftsmen enjoying their night off. The flickering warmth of a roaring fire mixed with muted chatter, laughter, and occasionally, the raised voice of a bartering dispute. The air was heavy with the aroma of stew, fresh bread, and a tinge of tobacco smoke. It was a comforting cacophony that made any visitor feel welcome and at home.