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Flying away from the elven newcomer the white and black crows circle the room and finally perch on opposite sides of the room.
"You Won. You Won." The white caws.
"Next time You'll Die. Next time you'll die" replies the black.
Hurrying around the common room of the inn, the young woman who ushered the party inside bolts and bars the door then begins to pour mead.
"There is stew in the warming pot by the fire and some dark bread. All the cows have been slaughtered by the direwolves so there is no butter or cheese but there is flavored oil for dipping if you like."
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