Ravenwing parked his truck in front of the first likely place he found as the sun set. King's Brewery the sign read. But more important to him was the Tavern and Inn below.

The old truck's door protested as Ravenwing opened it. From his boots, to his duster, and finally his stetson, he looked as if he had traveled far. He leaned over the bed and pulled a large bag from the back and with practiced ease, slung it over his shoulder and entered the Tavern.

Ravenwing stopped just beyond the doorway letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. He liked how quiet this place was. He found the owner and asked for a room.

Ravenwing took the key, after paying and found his room. An hour later, looking washed up and with his clothes dusted off, he returned to the tavern. He saw that a booth in back was empty and walked to it. He removed his stetson and set it on the table and pulled a notebook out of the duster's pocket, then sat down. A quick glance around convinced him that no-one appeared too interested in him so he began to read.

The steady hum of backround noise, clinking glass, murmured conversations, and the traffic outside, finally invaded his reading after a few hours. Ravenwing looked around to see that the tavern had become busier since he had last looked. He took a worn pocket watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. How had he kept reading? He asked himself. He flipped to the last entry in his notebook and replaced the pocketwatch. From another pocket, he removed a pen and carefully wrote a new entry.

The night half done, Ravenwing decided to get some sleep. With luck, he could look around tomorrow and see what the city had to offer him. Wearily, he walked to his room. A few percautions for his safety and all would be well. Finally, with his bowie knife under his pillow, he drifted off to sleep.

Ravenwing woke up just past noon. The sunlight bled through the thick curtains in several places. Outside, the noise of the city drowned out anything he cared to hear. Ravenwing followed his normal morning rituals and then began to check his gear. Unstrung bow and collection of arrows were lain on the bed. The case holding his rifle was placed next to the bow and finally his knife was taken from under the pillow and placed next to the rifle.

A cleaning kit on his lap, Ravenwing began by checking his Bowie knife. A gift from his grandfather on his name day, it is possible that this is his most prized possession. Then the rifle was assembled and cleaned. Years of habit made him clean it, even though he had not had to use it in a week or two. Then, after the rifle was broke down and back in the case, his bow was checked. He looked all over it checking for any nicks or anything else wrong. Next the string was fitted to the bow. Ravenwing stood and pulled the bow back, testing the pull. Satisfied, he carefully set it on the bed. Then each arrow was inspected to ensure the flights were undamaged and the shafts were still straight.

Finally, Ravenwing drew on his boots, slipped on his duster and set his stetson on his head. A quick glance around told him all was right. He carefully repacked his gear, except the bow and slung the pack over his shoulder. Picking the key up, Ravenwing left the room.

The desk clerk informed him where to find a meal as he dropped the key off. With a tip of the hat, Ravenwing left the King's Brewery.

Outside, Ravenwing stopped to smell the air. The woods were not far he thought. He set his pack in the bed of the truck, pulled his keys out , rested the bow on the floorboard and got into the truck headed for Mel's Diner