On the bed lay a few trinkets, some coins, a piece of candy from Mavis, a spare shirt, and a small stuffed lion keychain with a tiny key dangling from its paw. His gaze softened.
Sylene was grateful Sir Draven's pouch—the one he'd left at Grandma's house—was untouched, thankfully. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if anyone took it. He'd been saving money bit by bit to return to Sir Draven someday. The thought of it missing made his stomach twist.
He picked up the stuffed lion, running his thumb over its worn fabric. Michel, Bryent… how were the mercenaries now? They were probably out there somewhere—traveling from city to city, taking on missions, laughing around a campfire like always. Maybe even clearing out the ghoul nests spreading across Forchel.
Everyone had heard of the nest problem lately, even locals like him who were sheltered in a secure city like Forchel had heard of that problem.
But he doesn't care.
