Westfall Village

Tana's offer to see the village took me by surprise. I glanced down at my leg, tracing the fine, white scars before nodding. Helron shot Tana and Sorrin a wink and dragged Bilev away, hustling the protesting innkeeper down the stairs. 

Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the bed and paused, my bare feet an inch from the floor. Tana nudged Sorrin, who grunted and rolled his eyes.

"Want a hand?" he asked.

I stared at his offered hand, finding it coated in dozens of fine white scars and thick callouses. Soltair had a hand like that, as did the other heroes and soldiers I fought beside, one that had seen battle time and time again. 

Seeing my hesitation, Tana slapped his hand away. "Just take your time."

"Just make up your mind, elf," Sorrin grumbled, striding over to the door.

"Half-elf," she corrected automatically, as though giving a practiced response.

"Whatever. I'll be downstairs."