A cloaked figure sat on the edge of the narrow bed in the dimly lit inn room, his breaths quick and shallow, a glimpse of the eggs from his bag visible. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, cursing under his breath.
"They're here," he muttered to himself. "Those damn wyverns."
He glanced toward the window, barely cracking the shutter open to peer at the street below. Guards patrolled the cobblestone roads in pairs, their torches casting flickering light across the buildings. The once lively capital was unnervingly quiet, the curfew choking the usual hum of activity.
