Morning in Meadowbrook always began with noise—wagon wheels clattering over cobblestone, roosters trying to out-crow one another, someone inevitably shouting about the price of eggs.After weeks of dungeon silence, Marron found the chaos comforting, almost musical.
She'd spent the morning sweeping the diner porch, more out of habit than need. The air smelled of coffee, sun-warmed soil, and distant woodsmoke. Across the street, dwarves in thick leather aprons hammered at a new stone bridge—an improvement Marron didn't remember approving, but one she liked anyway.
Her cart sat parked beside her, polished clean of dungeon grit. Every so often, it gave a soft, content thrumm, as if pleased to rest in sunlight again.
She was halfway through wiping the windows when she heard the crunch of boots.
"Chef Louvel," a gravel-low voice called. "You've got explaining to do."
