Chapter 8
by 
TheProletariat
“Double mocha, and two flagons of ale, order up!”
“Last call!”
She merrily said the words, those sweet final words. By then most had cleared out and she had only to clean after the last few. Within the hour she would be off under the wide gaze of the full moon. Within her satchel she carried an expensive goat cheese wrapped carefully that a patron had dropped into her tip jar.
She had no intention of selling it, no, the divine doe declared deposited dairy demanded destiny done down during deathly digestive demise.
+34 gold
The cheese was mostly gone before she set foot home.
*chomp chomp*
