I normally don't like children, they make me feel old, like some relic of past wars and worse times, like some sort creature that died long ago but simply refused to stop being. But this child Corby didn't make me feel that way, I didn't mind talking to her. She said she wanted to find a family, and I sincerly hope she finds one that doesn't make her feel like I always do thinking about mine.
She had run off to the parlor, and so I decided it was about time to find a place where I could hole up during the nights. I saw a back door leading out of the kitchen to a servants staircase.
At the top I could see the horned guy, Ara, these two siblings who had come in a while ago, and Corby talking nerviously. I ignored them and made for the first door along the passage. It was exactly what I was looking for.
The room was furnished with a heavy, dark wood bed, a table and set of chairs in the center, well stocked bookcases along the walls, and a stone fireplace. I put my bg down on one of the chairs and took out my violin case, it would be safe under the bed.
A quick inspection turned up a large brass key for the door, and after a little bit of hauling I could block the door with a large wooden trunk and the dresser. I put everything back into it place, tucked my Krinkov carbine into my worn leather satchel, and stepped out the door, locking it behind me.
I recalled a time from younger days; I sat in a cottage in the mountain forests of my homeland, the windows long since boarded up, the ceiling dripping with mold. I sat opposite the door, held shut with chairs and bookcases. i sat behind an overturned table, nearly screaming, nearly crying as i clutched my old hunting rifle and my bitten leg as the wolves circled outside in the half light, looking for a way in.
There were dangers in this house too, I could feel them. I would not let them find me while I slept.