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Pele had done most of this day's activities up on the Sixth Circle, switching back and forth between the Ranger Headquarters and Houses of Healing a few times, including all the appropriate changes of clothing and equipment used. There was much to do, and by the end of the day she felt tired of everything, and awfully hungry, as she had managed only a few bites of some food for lunch, since the meal ended up not finished because she had been called off to do one thing or another.

Dressed in a normal attire for once, a long-sleeved tunic, leggings and boots which were still not colourful enough to make up for the black-and-white-and-grey of business, Pele had made her way down to the Wayfarer's in search of food, and perhaps some good company, though she wondered whether she herself would be a good company at the moment. Perhaps that could be fixed though.

"Well, look at that hungry look on you, Pele," Alf exclaimed, when he looked up from behind the counter where he was polishing cups and glasses. "I would say a good-sized portion of potatoes and meat, with cake and tea for dessert might help, no?"

The innkeeper's merry greeting did wonders, and a dissatisfied frown that had settled on Pele's brow disappeared. "Aye, that sounds awesome, Alf!" she replied, and stood for a while by the counter, breathing in the delicious aromas wafting in from the kitchen. Her stomach added its opinion in what sounded rather like a choir of frogs by a moonlit lake.

"Oi, I better hurry then!" Alf laughed in reaction to the hungry sounds and disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the promised edibles.

Draugûrdaer was exhausted after days and days of travelling. How many days had it been? He’d lost count, that that he could actually count mind you. He knew he was headed toward the fabled White City of the South. When he started from the Valley of Rivendell, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was walking toward or why, but there was a calling deep within his canine soul that told him he must go. And Draugûrdaer was not the kind of wolfhound that would deny call of his soul. Perhaps there was something in the city that needed his attention or some problem that he needed to solve there. But in a city of so many humans and canines, what was so special about him? It was a puzzle, that was for sure. Normally Draugûrdaer didn’t like puzzles, unless they were the kind that dispensed savory meat treats upon solving, but he could feel something different in this puzzle. Would there be a reward? Who could say? In cities there was always the Dog Star’s weight in bacon bits, venison strips, fatty beef trimmings, and turkey legs to keep any hound satisfied.

Entering the city was easy enough. With his noble bearing, Draugûrdaer had been able to pass as a farmer’s hound and none of the guards questioned it. The farmer himself gave him a greasy bite of chicken before he went on his way. Stealing down an alley he began to let his nose guide him. Now that he was in the city, he needed to find out why he was in the city. Sadly, the spitz-wolfhound mix had no idea where to start looking for something like that. Dogs were not exactly philosophical by nature. They followed their nose, their instinct, or their stomach.

There were so many smells to investigate here. Some of them sweet and fruity, others were more visceral and dangerous. In a city this size, one ought to be on guard, but the myriad smells were so distracting! And it did not help that Draugûrdaer was truly getting hungry. A few scraps of chicken were not going to satisfy a dog nearly the size of a small pony. He took a drink from a trough meant for horses (a few of them gave him meaningful and disdainful looks before he moved off) and began to search for a place that might accommodate his curiosity and his hunger. Inns and taverns were a good place to look, they often had backdoors that were not too difficult to manage that lead into the kitchens.

He walked for what felt like hours, following this scent or that down alleys, over garden walls, under fences, and once through an old man’s open front door. Finally he managed to make it to the Second Circle (not that he knew this was the Second Circle, being a dog) where most of the good inns, pubs, and taverns were lined. He dodged a few rocks thrown at him from stalls in the Marketplace (though he did mark who had thrown the rocks so he could come back later for a form of retribution) and finally made it to the Wayfarer’s Inn. Naturally, being an illiterate wolfhound, Draugûrdaer didn’t know this but he found it satisfying all the same.

However, instead of running around back to see if he could sneak in and steal away into the kitchens, he decided he was going to march right in through the front door. Why not? There were no signs saying his kind were not allowed and would not be served. Perhaps inside was a clue to his purpose in the city. Either way, the smell was too good to let pass.