They followed him into a large log building buzzing with life.
The moment they stepped inside, the air hit them—thick with the scent of sweat, roasted meat, and spilled ale. It was loud, crowded, and chaotic in a way that felt… familiar. Like a tavern that had given up pretending to have rules.
Men with thick arms and louder voices crowded the tables, mugs slamming, laughter roaring.
"That's the job board," the soldier said, pointing. "Talk to the lady at the counter. She'll sort you out."
And just like that, he was gone.
The boys approached the counter.
The clerk—a woman with a bright, almost mischievous smile—leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied them.
"Well now," she said sweetly, "how mighty are you, little boys? Looking for an herb-picking job?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the room.
Eyes turned.
Judging. Amused.
A man beside them slammed his drink onto the counter with a grin. "Obviously, Heather. Look at 'em. What're they gonna hunt? A squirrel that tripped?"
"True, true," she said, nodding along. "So, boys… care to answer?"
Damien's jaw tightened.
After hearing the crowd mock him and his brother, Damien felt his temper snap. The laughter, the stares—it all sounded the same. Weak. That was all anyone ever seemed to see. And after what had happened earlier, he refused to hear it again.
"We are STRONG!" Damien snapped. "You flat-chested bitch—" his eyes flicked to the board for only a moment before he barked, "—and we will hunt the crazed bird!"
The crowd burst into laughter.
The clerk didn't take him seriously. With a small chuckle, she slid a flyer across the counter. "Aww, how cute. Here—follow the details on this. It tells you where the nest is. Kill the bird and bring back the eggs. Forty-five silver, flat."
Damien snatched the flyer, his jaw clenched and his face burning with frustration. Without another word, he turned and stormed off, Luke following close behind.