Roman tilted her little face up at the wooden sign. In the cool night air, her fair skin carried a lovely flush. Even though it was early summer, the temperature in the mountains was still very low at night.
The wooden sign had long since been darkened by wind and rain. A weathered galloping horse was painted on it, along with some words Roman could not read. Still, she guessed this had to be the place. She placed both hands on her precious leather purse and, with her head tilted up, rubbed the ground with her round-toed leather boots as she hesitated for a while. This should be the place, right? That something-or-other Galloping Horse Inn?
As the warning bells rang out in the distance, a squad of guards passed by her. The Merchant's Daughter was not particularly frightened. Instead, she curiously examined the guards as they walked away. When the bells finally stopped, she let out a small sigh before turning around and entering the inn.
The owner of the Galloping Horse Inn was a dwarf, just as the stories described: he had a long beard the color of ripe wheat, with braid after braid tied into it and fastened with brass rings. Every one of those rings had a story behind it. They were engraved with patterns like "??????????"—though in truth, those were Stone Script, the dwarves' written language. The rings bore the names of clans, with each one representing a lineage. Famous clans such as "Firebeard," "Stonebrand," and "Lavish Jewel" could even use expensive, heavy gold rings.
These rings, like the dwarves' beards, were a source of pride. Dwarven clans all had histories spanning more than a thousand years, and their members proudly wore these things as they walked around, making them jingle. Dwarves were uncommon in