down an alley

in an old looking part of the town, their guide brought them to a house where he said they would be safe for a while....long enough to eat and warm up by a fire anyway....the wet snow was still coming down as the day turned to night....their guide mumbled a phrase at the door, and received a reply....the door opened a space, and a man looked out, and then motioned them to enter quickly.....inside it was warm, with a fire burning cheerfully on the hearth....the three fugitives pulled off their soaked furs and cloaks, and the lady of the house set them up to dry.....the man of the house looked at them with some misgiving and dread, but their trusted guide swore to their host that these three hard looking men were loyal to the true House, and only wanted to eat somewhat, and dry off, and then would leave, causing no trouble here.....so the goodwife grilled wurst, and singed kraut in a black pan, while the daughter toasted thick slices of rye bread, and lavished them with butter. They sat down at the rough table, said their prayers, and fell to....washing it all down with warmed cider. Trent, the senior of the three remaining rebels, took out his purse, and placed some coppers on the table. Their wraps had steamed more or less dry, and they donned them to depart.....the daughter was waiting by the door, to hand them two squares of sweet biscuit each as they departed into the frigid night. Baylor and Fervil wolfed down the sweets quickly, wiping at their beards with their hands when they were done. Trent slowly ate one biscuit, and put the other away. In the morning out on the road, as the dawn came damp and drear, Trent ate his second biscuit and washed it down with some cider from his flask, while Baylor and Fervil enjoyed only cold cider, and rumbling guts.....