Sorry I didn't post this yesterday!
As they drew the cart up to the front of the inn, Morika saw two other horses tied up to the post outside. One horse was a dark brown, almost black, with white fluffy hair like boots on its lower legs and hooves; a clydesdale. It was small for a clydesdale, almost the size of a pony. The other horse was a chestnut, well groomed and well fed, with a splendid cart with many colors and streamers. She could read ‘Splendor and Magic’ on the side in gold and silver letters. Morika smiled, recognizing the cart from the midsummer's eve festival. Her father however, stiffened when he saw the cart. “That’s the cart from the night at the festival.” He said tersely. “I don’t like it, we barely escaped, and we left long before he did. That means that either they were only after the panthers, or…” His voice trailed off. He doesn’t want to scare me, Morika realized to herself. That the magician might be a… spy? Or worse. She cleared her throat. “What do we do daddy?” he thought for a moment, then whispered, “keep an eye out on the inn. Let me know if anyone steps outside.” He then began to rummage through the magicians old cart. A few minutes later he climbed back out with a small bottle in his hand. He gestured them back into their own cart. “We’re going to be jaguars for tonight.” He said, unscrewing the lid. Inside was a creamy orange powder. Rayling took a pawful, rubbing it onto his face and arms. “No good under scrutiny, we might pass for jaguar / panther half-breeds”. Morika hesitated, then began applying the powder to herself as well. It took some time, the powder didn’t want to stick. Finally, they had to add some water, and using the corner of an old blanket to draw with, added lighter and darker patterns into their fur. Morika and her father managed to get their faces and arms looking distinctly jaguar-ish, but by then had run out of powder. “Best to wear long sleeves and not take your boots off, her father advised. He pulled out two travelers cloaks. “Also best to hide our tails, as they might give us away.” She donned the cloak he handed her, a bit too big, and when she pulled the hood over her head it fell over her eyes. She held her father’s paw as they walked up the steps and opened the door. For all their precaution, the inn was warm and friendly feeling. Built in a traditional long log cabin style, it had several tapestries along the wall; some of valiant warriors, others of peaceful maidens, and one of a majestic wildcat princess in a flowing dress of flower petals. The inn was old and rustic, tables roughly cut, and worn smooth from all the years in service. To the left was a small stage, on which the nymph was singing and dancing. Her voice was as clear as the morning spring, and she looked at once fragile as a young sapling, and as strong as an oak. She had a shimmering pearl shawl wrapped around her long thin arms, and clad in a dress the color of fall leaves. Her eyes were closed, a look a bliss on her green tinged face as she sang. Glancing at a nearby table, Morika noticed a crossbow and long dagger, probably belonging to the wood nymph near the stage. The rest of the customers were held captivated by her song. Her father nudged her, breaking her gaze. He led them to the check in table near the back. “Two rooms please”, he said quietly in a clipped, precise voice, mimicking the speech of the Jaguars. “Yessir” the manager, a wild looking koala with too much fur, accepted the coins Raylin deposited. “Rooms 4 and 5 upstairs to your right” he said, handing Raylin two keys. Morika helped her father carry their gear, mostly blankets and a change of clothes as they had used or lost the rest of their supplies, up the worn banister and down the hall. She yawned as they walked, glad to be somewhere warm, but tired and hungry. The manager seemed not to question their disguises or her father’s accent. She had kept quiet, keeping her hood low covering her shining blue eyes as per Raylin’s instruction. Taking the keys, her father unlocked room 4 first, stepping in with her as he surveyed the room. Apparently satisfied, he gestured. “Seems safe enough, although I would stay away from the windows. Go ahead and get ready for dinner, I’ll knock shortly, and we’ll go down together.” He handed the key to her, and softly left, closing the door behind him. Morika sighed, plopping down on the bed. She absently scratched at her ear, it had been cut when the cart was flipped over her head, but had mostly stopped bleeding. Her room had a single bed, a small dresser with a faded mirror, and two small windows with a candle and box of matches. There was no fireplace, but the heat from the fire downstairs had risen and filled the air. She lit the candle, hardly needing the extra light to change, as she had excellent night vision. She only had one spare shirt; a thick cotton tunic, homespun purple and white stars embroidered into a black background, something she had bought from the festival. Her trousers were both mudstained, and travel-worn from days spent in the back of the cart. Her father had lent her an extra pair of tan trousers and a belt from his spare clothes. They smelled of the wood and pine of the storage boxes in the cart. She felt sure these were a set that he had never bothered to unpack. They were a little baggy on her, but warm and comfortable. She took her time grooming, and cleaning up. When she felt ready, she pulled open the door. There was a note, presumably from her father:
“Meet me downstairs at the table near the kitchens. Don’t forget to wear your cloak, and not to talk if possible.”
She grabbed the cloak hanging from the hook on the inside of the door, and carefully locking her door after her, descended the steps.
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