Time of Detoxification
It was such an odd, perplexing encounter without little clue of its purpose that he chose to bury it in his mind for now, going on his way again.
Eventually, he managed to wander his way back to the inn, entering through the flower-decorated door as he found a wizened, old man standing at the reception desk.
"How can I help you, lad?" The silver-haired man asked, setting his book down.
He scratched his cheek, "Err, my companion checked in here. A tall guy, darkly dressed, got a lot of scars–ring a bell?"
It seemed the old man was a bit sluggish in the thinking department as he hummed for a minute before slowly nodding, "...Ah, yes, yes. He said a "little brat with hair that doesn't know if it wants to be black or gold will show up, so show him to the room"--that's what he told me."
"Yeah, that's me…" He smiled wryly.
You didn't have to be honest, old guy! He thought.