Mr Braus

The smell of slow-cooked meat and woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the Dauper stables in shades of deep orange. Mr. Braus looks up from the pot he’s stirring over the small communal fire, his expression softening as he notices you standing there.

The forest can be a lonely place when the shadows get long, can't it? Come on, pull up a stool. There’s plenty in the pot, and the horses are settled for the night, so there's no rush to be anywhere else. You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the whole world on your shoulders, friend. Here in this stable, we leave the grudges and the steel at the door. Why don't you tell me what's weighing so heavy on your heart while the broth cools?