The stitchgal server’s name was Hilde and her nose and ears were pierced with metallic hoops. Her hair hung in black braids and she had enough skin exposed Nay thought she was immune to the cold.

She returned to the table with two pints of Icemarrow Ale served in horns affixed with a metal ring that could be hung on stands on the table. “What it’ll be then, Alric? You and your friend want the dinner?”

“What’s the dinner?” Nay asked.

Hilde answered without looking at her, her eyes drawn to the group of miners snickering at one of the other tables over, “Baked slivermoon trout with the baked potatoes. Same as always.”

“You always offer the same dinner?” Nay asked. “Every day?”

“Since Ol’ Pat’s dropped off this mortal coil, yes,” she said. “What of it?”

She looked at Nay then, defensive, almost daring her to have a problem with it.

“Two dinners will be fine, Hilde,” Alric said.

Nay felt a sharp jab on her torso. Nom had pecked her with his beak. “Make that three,” she said. “I’ve got an appetite for two, today.”

Hilde looked Nay over then shrugged as if to examine if she was a big eater but Nay’s frame and her oversized clothes from Piero betrayed nothing about her capacity to eat. The server headed for the kitchen, but cursed at the table of miners as she passed them, shutting them up.

Although the third dinner was for Nom, Nay felt like she could eat a horse after all the traveling they had done.

The descent down the mountain into Lucerna’s End had left her sore, hungry and exhausted. Her leg muscles were burning from all the walking and the cold had sapped her of energy. As an Angeleno, her body was accustomed to walking, but nothing like she had experienced here.

She wasn’t sure if she was built for this kind of terrain and life, but she would have to adapt fast if she wanted to survive life in Stitchdale.

She took a sip of the Icemarrow Ale and was surprised to find it smooth and crisp, like a good cider. She couldn’t discern the flavor, which she found frustrating. “Nom,” she said. “Describe this to me.”

She tilted the top of the horn underneath the blanket she had draped over her shoulders to hide the tentacle. He leaned forward and placed his beak over the opening. His thin tongue unrolled and slipped into the horn and he began slurping. “Easy!” she whispered. “You’re splashing it all over me!”

He slowed down his drinking and then stopped, releasing a burp that rippled the edges of the blanket. Some of the miners looked over at the sound and Nay said, “Excuse me,” and tapped her chest with her fist, pretending to burp again.

“Well?” Nay asked.

“It’s smooth,” Nom said. “But there’s a cold bite to it, like an icicle poking at the back of my mouth. And instead of a warmth that you sometimes get from alcohol, there’s a frigidness to it that spread throughout my body and made me shiver. I like it.”

He drank some more.

“Save some for me, dammit!” Nay said.

“Why don’t you get another horn?” Nom said between slurps.

Alric took a long guzzle from his horn and smacked his lips. “It’s Quincy’s own personal brew. It’s what the Lodge is known for.”

Hilde returned and set down a bowl of what appeared to be a mix of nuts and seeds and a plate of sliced cucumbers soaking in some type of dressing or vinegar. Then she was off again, and as usual, cursed at the group of miners as she passed them.

Nay picked up one of the cucumbers. “Oh, what’s this?”

Alric grabbed two cucumber slices and tossed them into his mouth. As he chewed he said, “Cucasalat.”

Nay bit into the cucumber. It was crunchy and refreshing and she suspected it had a tang. “These are fermented. Nice.”

“It’s one of Quincy’s starters,” Alric said. “Probably the last of Ol’ Pat’s batch before she passed. A shame. Maybe she wrote down the recipe and instructions for Quincy. Because the Lodge just won’t be the same without them.”

Nay fed a few to Nom underneath her blanket and she felt the tentacle squirming with joy as he crunched on the little treats. “Oh these are good!” Nom said. “Salty, cool and addictive. I bet you can’t eat just one!”

Next Nay rifled through the bowl of seed and nuts with a finger. The main nut seemed to be pecan-like. She plopped one into her mouth. It had a satisfying crunch but she couldn’t pick up the taste. She fed one to Nom.

“This tastes of the forest,” Nom said. “But it’s fatty. Like a good butter. Oh and it crumbles like when I bite into some cookies! Very delightful!”

Alric took a handful of nuts and seeds and poured them into his mouth and chewed away. “A nice bit of something salty to go with the Icemarrow Ale. Just a bit of a chew to keep you slavering while you wait for the meal. It’s got pumpkin seeds and starflower seeds. The nuts are pistachios and spinecrackers. I think the mixture is designed to keep you drinking ale. At least that’s what it seems like to me.”

Nay followed his lead and took a handful and chewed. He was right. It had a nice preoccupying mouth feel. She scattered the mixture on the table in front of her. One of Nom’s protuberances quickly swiped the nuts and seeds towards his beak. The sound of crunching came from inside the blanket.

“Yes, we’re definitely going to need more ale,” Nom said through a mouthful of the nut mix.

As they ate the snacks that were a prelude to the dinner, Alric gave Nay some history on Quincy. “He was an adventurer from the Peninsula, one of the more well-known ones, too.”

“An adventurer?” she said.

“Yes, it can be quite profitable for the skilled ones,” Alric said. “There’s a fortune to be made from finding and acquiring cultivation boons, the ingredients for the special elixirs, the herbs, any relic or item that may help one strengthen and rank up their vigor. Many do contract work for the different schools or guilds, even certain powerful families. Even the DMA commissions freelancers for acquiring Delicacies and Marrow. A lot of that stuff comes from monsters, and sometimes taking down a monster is not easy. Even for skilled Marrow Eaters who work in an official capacity for the authorities. Some adventurers may not even be interested in that stuff, but they just like to travel and accept quests from towns and cities. These adventurers do anything from pest control to investigating disappearances or strange happenings. Still some just do it for the thrill of adventure. There’s even an Adventurer’s Guild where they compete with each other for standing and notoriety.”

The idea of adventuring and being an adventurer got Nay’s imagination racing. It sounded exciting. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It’s highly dangerous,” Alric said. “The tale of the adventurer perishing while trying to make a name for themselves is a tale as old as time. That’s why when there’s someone like Quincy, who survives into old age and actually retires, it’s somewhat of a big deal. Someone like him is considered a legend for a reason.”

“Why retire in Stitchdale though?” Nay said. “Seems like there would be less stressful places to retire.”

Alric tossed more nuts into his mouth. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself. I’ve never gotten him to explain it to me. Only thing I could figure is that he did a lot of adventuring in this region and developed an affinity for it. Or maybe he just doesn’t like Peninsula-life. Don’t know why though, it’s certainly a lot cushier compared to this. The weather doesn’t try to kill you.”

Hilde arrived and set three plates onto the table before them. “Here’s the dinner and I brought ye more ale.” She pulled more horns of ale that were wedged into slots along the edge of her tray and hooked the rings on the table stand.

Nay felt Nom wriggling with excitement against her. She nudged him to calm down and be patient, but he didn’t really get the message. The last thing she needed was him to burst out into view because he couldn’t control his enthusiasm for food. She didn’t want to think what that situation would cause. She suspected that these people might draw steel and try to attack him, which was pretty much worst case scenario.

Hilde took their empty horns and moved to her next stop, which was slapping one of the miners in the back of the head as he was trying to drink, making him spray ale all over his mates. “What was that for?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t even try to grab ya that time!” But she was already checking on her next table along her route.

Steam rose off the baked slivermoon trout. It was so long its tail and head were hanging off the edge of the plate. It had been baked with its skin still on. It was the color of tuna, and it even looked like there was a glow coming off the fish, reminiscent of the light of the moon. Its eyes were milky white, probably some development to habituating in near-freezing water all the time.

"Interesting choice," Nay said, "not to descale the fish. They really do need help."

At least it smelled good and Nay saw flaky salt and a batch of herbs wrapped and stuffed in its mouth.

There were lemon wedges and a lump of white sauce along the edge of the plate. She dabbed a finger in and tasted. It had the lumpy and creamy texture of tartar sauce.

Across from her Alric began digging in with his bare hands. He quickly plucked off flakes of the white meat, plopping it into his mouth before the heat burned his fingers. The fish was still hot and he blew a few times so he didn’t burn his mouth too badly.

Nay positioned Nom’s plate in front of her and his tongue whipped out, tearing bits of the meat and smearing it in the sauce. She looked down and saw him turn a rosy color denoting that he was pleased.

She carefully peeled off some of the flaky white flesh and followed Alric's lead, blowing on it before sticking it into her mouth.

The meat was delicate and melted on her tongue. The texture was great, reminding her of trout from back home. The last time she had it was at a Fourth of July celebration with her friends. They had gone camping out at Big Bear Lake and back then she still had her sense of taste. The memory of fresh, hot fish sprinkled in lemon juice and dipped in tartar sauce made the pleasure areas of her brain tingle.

She squeezed some of the lemon wedges on the fish and dipped it in the sauce. Her tongue tingled a little and she got the faint hint of the flaky salt taste. She wished she could experience all the flavors but swallowing the food satisfied the ravenous hunger in her stomach.

The bones of the fish had a silver hue, it looked almost as if it had a metallic skeleton in the light of the hearth.

“This is damn good fish,” Nom said, between bites. He had almost stripped his fish clean. “The sauce is alright, too. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s missing something. Like it needs more salt or more seasoning or something.”

Nay sliced through her baked potato. The skin was slightly charred, and she was surprised to find there were no fixings, not even butter to put on it. So she grabbed a bunch on her fork and dipped it in the sauce. It was a baked potato, with no butter or sour cream or even enough salt.

“The potato’s kind of bland,” Nom said. “But, the food is making me less hungry. Someone should really tell Quincy that they need to dress the potatoes up more. It wouldn’t take much. Even some salt and butter would make a difference.”

Nay watched Quincy, who was behind the bar, regaling the stitchmen sitting on the stools there with a story. She finished her fish and potato and guzzled down her ale. She stood.

“Where are you going?” Alric said.

“I think I’ll tell him myself. I think it’s time I make my introduction to the proprietor.”