His arm is outstretched toward me with his sleeve dangling straight over the fire. In his hand is a stick with the sad remains of a burnt and melting ...arshmallow. It drips slowly and pathetically off the stick as he waits for a reply."I'm good, man." I try to keep the malice out of my voice but some of it leaks through anyway. He's too stoned to care but I add a thank you onto the end to ease my own worry. Then he retracts the stick with the marshmallow corpse and waves it around a bit before. The three women sat close to the fire. There had been snow flurries all afternoon. Wise men and those who thought themselves wise said the snow would continue through the night. Perhaps they were right. The winter solstice approached, a matter of days now.Master Heathcoate was spending the evening at the closest tavern, his favorite, but his wife had little concern over his safe return. He’d made it hundreds of times in whatever state the end of the evening had left him without a single mishap.. More

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