* * *
Far to the east, Culnae lay quiet. A few torches adorned the haphazard collection of wooden structures. At the centre, Mungo's Lodge was situated. Lanterns hung around the porch, giving the lodge a warm, inviting feel. A few late revellers still propped up the bar in the main saloon. Mungo, the proprietor, sat in the corner of the room. A large metal tankard was at his left hand. A leather-bound book lay splayed in the centre of the desk. In his meaty yellowed right hand he held his quill. A small ink pot was set into the desk, although the quill was dry now. He'd filled in his ledger. And he was happy. He was fully booked for the next season. After that, the elk hunt would begin. His safe would be filling up with silver and gold coins at a steady rate. Life was treating Mungo well.
